Guns and Roses
by Al Kristopher
Summary: A post-Civil War American Western story with the Sailor girls and Gundam guys in it?? Multiple unlikely pairings? And a serious study of social behavior and racial prejudicing? ONLY in my stories!
1. Prologue

Author's note: Once again, I have been given a fan fiction challenge, and once again, I have risen to the task put before me. This is going to be a difficult crossover--Gundam Wing and Sailor Moon--but it's _also_ going to be a difficult Alternate Reality. The entire story takes place in a Wild West setting, roughly around 1885. Therefore, I have taken a few liberties and changed the Sailor's names slightly to suit this setting (example: instead of Raye Hino, it's now Raya Hinno). As was the case with my Final Fantasy 8 western, "High Noon", I'm going to try and make this story as accurate as possible to the American Western setting, while still trying to keep the characters in touch. Thanks go out to M*Y*S*T* L*A*D*Y once again for giving me a challenge (she asked me to do "Mind and Body", and we all know how good that came out), and the companies behind Sailor Moon and Gundam Wing for their creations. Whew!

**__**

Guns and Roses

By Al Kristopher

Prologue

The great Gold Rush of 1849 and 1859 produced a massive movement to the western border of the United States of America. Literally thousands of people, all of them eager for land or gold, or both, flocked from the colonial states in a chaotic mad dash towards the Pacific. In Nebraska and Kansas they found agriculture, in Texas they found cattle, in Oklahoma they got the land, and in California and Colorado, gold.

In the wake of this great expansion west, pioneers were born and bred. Prosperity and strife walked hand in hand, as the lure of riches and the sting of defeat awaited one traveler or another. New methods of transportation were invented, such as the steam ship, and of course, the famed iron horse. Immigrants from China came for work in the new land and found themselves in the blistering heat, working on the tracks; Native Americans were repressed beyond human comprehension, and the dark-skinned slaves of the south grew in value and in number.

A great civil war was fought, and won, and time slowly healed all wounds. After all, there was still an enormous wilderness spread out in the west, and there were still people who had dreams and ambitions of a better life. They would come from all kinds of backgrounds, with all kinds of problems, but as different as they were, they all had the same dream: a dream of life, liberty, freedom, and happiness. These are but a few of their stories.


	2. Family Values

**__**

Family Values

The Promised Land it was not, but to about five-hundred people, Serenity Valley was home. Like most frontier towns of the day, it was situated somewhere close to a reliable source of water, and there was indeed plenty of greenery to look at most of the day. But more often than not, the heat of the sun and the dry air caused many of its residents to forget about their blessings and to fret over the temperature. There was indeed plenty to complain about, and for an optimist, this place was the last resort before desperation or death. Pessimists loved the place, however, and if a person preferred heat, why they were declared Mayor on the spot!

Serenity Valley was, for the most part, a town that lived up to its name. Most of the year, it was bathed in peace and tranquility (and yes, insufferable warmth), with only the occasional fight or brawl breaking out. Outlaws did indeed pass through the town like so much wandering sagebrush, and there was just enough crime to give birth to a courthouse and a sheriff. But it was more quiet than uncontrolled, and the people were usually pure and good, but since it wasn't perfect, Serenity Valley was in fact just a normal little burg that boasted a good population.

No other feeling was quite as invigorating as listening to the courthouse bell sound off in the morning. The day had just barely begun, hence the bell tolling seven times, yet as Trey Cush Renada stood there in the early morning light, he could already tell that it was going to be a great day. Out of sheer habit, he fumbled for his gold Swiss watch that had been tucked inside his pocket, and checked the time. Seven on the dot; perfect. Trey closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the early morning air, and even though there was some dust mixed in, it was still refreshing.

The door to his house opened, and out stepped a young lady. She was very tall and regal, and had her hands folded in front of her like a true lady should. She was wearing the conservative dress of a schoolmarm, and her beautiful long hair had been allowed to flow freely. Her face shined with sophistication and politeness, and even the way she walked suggested nobility. Her name was Trista Meigh Renada, and she was Trey's wife.

"Good morning," he smiled politely. She returned the smile and greeted him, and quietly joined him as he watched the morning progress.

"How do you feel this morning, Trey?"

"I can say that I am feeling amicable," he replied. Turning his head a degree, Trey regarded his wife with a smile. "You know, you're going to be late for your first class if you don't hurry."

"There is still time," said Trista emptily. She had a habit of staring off into the distance, as well as having a glassy look in her eyes, but it was something that Trey had gotten used to. Trista was a bit mysterious for a woman, but Trey had come to accept her minor quirks long ago. Besides, he really did love her--and she really _would_ be late if she didn't hurry.

"Is Marie-Maya awake yet?" he asked. Trista quietly nodded her head.

"Awake, dressed, and ready to start the day." A pause. Trey put his watch back and smiled faintly.

"That's good to hear. I wouldn't want her to be late either. Just make sure that she gets to class on time as well, all right?" Trista nodded her head once again (silence was her forte anyway) and turned to give her husband a peck on the cheek.

"Wish me luck," she whispered before slipping back into the house. Trey had to wait only sixty more seconds before his wife emerged from the house with his daughter. Some years ago, the sweet but silent Marie-Maya had suffered a brutal polio spell and had since been crippled from the waist up. She had to be wheeled around everywhere, and it was usually Trista's pleasure to perform this act. Trey was a fairly wealthy banker who repaired watches as a hobby, so he could definitely afford the mechanical apparatus.

As for Marie-Maya, she was treated surprisingly well by the other children of the small town, even though her disability forced her into isolation on more than one occasion. Trey sometimes caught himself spoiling the girl, and sometimes even Trista would coddle her, but Marie-Maya seemed to enjoy the added attention. In a time where only the strong could survive, and where the brilliant people devoured the ignorant, it was usually hard luck for somebody with a disability to live in such a world. Marie-Maya had been heavily blessed to be Trey's daughter; having Trista as a stepmother was also a blessing.

"Good morning, father," greeted the quiet child. Trey smiled and cupped her cheek with his hand.

"Good morning, Marie-Maya. How are you feeling today?"

"I'm feeling ready to attend schooling again, father," she replied. Trey, usually a very somber man, let out a soft chuckle and bent down to kiss her forehead.

"I hope you are. And I hope that your stepmother is as well." Trista gave her husband an assuring smile, kissed him goodbye, and slowly walked into the town with Marie-Maya wheeled before her. Trey let out a soft sigh as he watched his two loved ones disappear into the hot, dusty town, and then he himself prepared for the upcoming day. Managing a bank wasn't the easiest job in the world, and even though Trey was good at it, he would still need all the energy he could muster.

Even though Trey did love Trista, he couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic every time he saw her. Trista was a wonderful and classy lady, perfect for Trey, and she was also very intelligent for a woman of those times. But even though Trey loved her, he couldn't help but think of his previous wife every so often. This first lover, this original Mrs. Renada, was a strong woman on the outside and inside, but despite her strength, she was unable to survive the process of giving birth. Trey's daughter, Marie-Maya Renada, bore a striking resemblance to her mother, and in a sense, seeing her brought a feeling of comfort to Trey.

But no matter how much he loved this second wife, and no matter how much his daughter comforted him, there was still a kind of hidden pain lurking in his heart. His wife had made it plain that she would not be a replacement but a kind of successor, and a support for the quietly-grieving young man, as well as a matronly figure towards Marie-Maya, who had grown to love the tall woman. These had indeed been some hard times for Trey, but with the love of his new wife and his daughter, he was able to get by.

Mrs. Trista Meigh Renada was a full-time schoolteacher for a large group of preteen children, and unlike so many older schoolmarms of that day, she poured a welcome mixture of love into her teachings. Of course, Trista was not afraid to use discipline, but her patience ran long and her temper longer still, so it was a rarity to see her use the switch on anybody. She was a first-rate scholar of history and chronology, and her favorite mantra was that if men could not learn from the past then they could have no future. Therefore, she put all her effort into her job, and for the most part, she performed magnificently.

Silently, Trista wheeled her stepdaughter into the classroom, and proceed to write her name on the board. She then placed her mantra below her name, turned around, and asked her class to be seated. From the looks of the fruit on her desk, there was more than one brownnoser in the group, and Trista would have a fun time trying to determine who wanted to be the teacher's pet.

"Good morning, class," she began. "My name is Mrs. Renada, and I shall be teaching Historical education. If you will notice the quote written below my name, then you will do well to take heed of its words. This is my entire curriculum in a nutshell, and if you learn nothing else from this course, then you would do well to learn _it_. Now, I shall take roll, but from today forward, I expect you to be seated alphabetically so I do not have to do this every day. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mrs. Renada!" chimed the group of young ones. Trista smiled faintly, put her reading-glasses on, and began reading the names out loud.

"Hotaru Tomoe?"

"Here!" chirped a cute Japanese girl.

"Renee Succhino?"

"Here!" chirped a little Italian girl.

"Apollo Helios?"

"Here!" said a young Greek boy. The class giggled slightly at the foreigners' names, and they reddened as they slid into their seats. Trista's raised eyebrow would've normally silenced the kids, but since this was her first day teaching, she had to speak to be heard.

"Children? Is there something amusing about these names?"

"…No, ma'am," they sighed, picking up her strict tone. She nodded her head and gave Apollo, Hotaru, and Renee an obvious smile, and went on with her list.

"Marie-Maya Renada?"

"Here, ma--uh, ma'am." Trista succeeded in hiding this new smile, and went on with the rest of her role until everybody was accounted for. She then began her lessons by asking the class to open their books to the first page of the first chapter of the first segment of history, the era of Egypt. Trista was one of the few teachers who did not teach Creationism or evolution, preferring to leave those options to the church and the sciences, respectively. Instead, she opted to teach exactly what had been proven before, from the time of the Pharaohs to the time of the American Civil War. Her curriculum was revolutionary, and since the children were probably too young to notice a difference, she wouldn't be questioned by them or their parents.

Fortunately for her, teaching her stepdaughter was the least of her concerns.

All throughout class, Marie-Maya stole glances towards the foreign students scattered around the class. There was Hotaru Tomoe from Japan, Renee Succhino from Italy, and Apollo Helios from Greece. Seeing foreigners in the American west was becoming more and more a reality as immigration was rising up. People from literally all corners of the globe were shuffling into the United States for a chance at a better life, and although they would have a few rough years at first, they would eventually become one of the many reasons why America became so great.

But for now, the Melting Pot of culture was still pretty black-and-white (so to speak; Negroes were growing in number now that they had freedom). Marie-Maya frowned slightly as she saw just how out-of-place the children seemed, and since she had been brought up under high morals of human decency and kindness, she wanted to do something to make them feel better. Besides, she knew what it was like to be different…

"…Miss Renada? Have you been paying attention?" came Trista's voice suddenly. Marie-Maya snapped out of her daze and rolled her eyes until they were glued to the blackboard. Luckily, she had heard everything her stepmother/teacher had said.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied. "You were last speaking about King Ramses II and the loss of his Hebrew slaves, correct?" Trista pursed her lips and gave her stepdaughter/student a deliberating glare. She loved the girl dearly, but inside the schoolroom, she was the teacher and Marie-Maya the student, so she had a right to be suspicious.

"…That is correct," she said after a pause. "But from now on, Miss Renada, I would prefer it if your eyes were up here as well as your ears." Marie-Maya blushed in embarrassment but tried to keep her dignity as she apologized. With that brief scene now over, Trista continued to lecture about the Pharaoh dynasties, and Marie-Maya continued to look at the foreigners. When they gazed in her direction, she flashed them a friendly smile.

When the school bell rang, all the children immediately flocked out of the class, some of them kicking up wind and dust in their wake. Only Trista, Marie-Maya, and the three foreign children were left, and it looked as if none of them were going anywhere anytime soon. Trista was busying herself with a few papers (_and_ the apples she had gotten), while Hotaru, Renee, and Apollo were still in their seats, completing their studies. Marie-Maya, who couldn't leave without her stepmother, wheeled over to where they were sitting and smiled.

"Hello," she said. "My name's Marie-Maya. Is this your first day in an American school?" The three children looked at her quizzically, and slowly nodded their heads.

"Sorry, girl," shrugged Apollo. "I not speak English well. I not know about others." He turned to face the Japanese and Italian girls. "You speak English?"

"Small," squeaked Hotaru, and Renee said, "A little."

"Sorry," shrugged Apollos, turning back to Marie-Maya. She smiled and waved the matter off.

"That's okay. We don't need to understand each other to be friends, do we?" The three children smiled, having understood _that_ at least, and nodded their heads. Meanwhile, Trista had long ago forgotten about her papers, and instead was watching her stepdaughter with an inquisitively-raised eyebrow. It made her happy that Marie-Maya was making new friends, and even though the three of them could barely understand her native language, they all had something in common: a single bond that would allow them to be together despite the language barriers.

_Their difference is what unites them,_ thought Trista mildly. _Fitting--differences have been the cause of many wars in the past, and yet here, it has united these young ones. Oh, the lessons we could learn from children…_ She smiled at this very last thought, and had to wonder who was the _real_ teacher in the classroom.

Five minutes passed, and Trista M. Renada was ready to leave for home. Trey would be arriving an hour later, and since Marie-Maya loved to cook, she would have to get started fairly soon. Quietly, the tall lady approached her disabled stepdaughter and placed a hand on her shoulders.

"I think I can be your stepmother again," she said with a smile. "Are you ready to go home yet?" Marie-Maya looked up at the pretty lady and gave her a sad smile.

"…Not quite, matron. I wish to spend more time with my friends."

"Well, if they can cook, then you have my permission to invite them to dinner," said Trista. Her stepdaughter smiled joyfully and turned around to give her three friends the news. Renee, Hotaru, and Apollo were about as experienced in culinary delights as their American friend, and besides, having foreign food in the kitchen might've been a good change from the "down-home" cooking that Marie-Maya was accustomed to making. They all agreed to Trista's conditions, and stood to race towards the residence of Mr. Trey Renada. Marie-Maya sighed sadly as she was left behind, but Trista's comforting hand erased the frown.

Happily, the three friends slowly returned to the classroom, and apologized for running off. Purehearted Marie-Maya forgave them on the condition that one of them should push the wheelchair, and since Apollo was the tallest and strongest, he was selected.

As the five of them wandered through the dusty streets, they saw many familiar faces and several slightly abnormal phenomena. The famous entertainer Venus de Milo was strutting her stuff in the presence of her boyfriend Millard, who only smiled when he was around the blonde wonder. There was also the loveable and slightly annoying belle Lita Keene wandering around, pestering the outlaw known as Heero (as usual), as well as Reverend Quatre R. Winner instructing a small group of people about the apostle Paul. Among those present were Michelle King (who some said was in love with the priest), Raya Hinno, and Trowa Barton. On the far end of town was the Chinese immigrant Wufei Chang, and the lovely but unloved scholar who had an eye for him, Amy Anderson, as well as the carefree crossbreed Duey Maxwell and his Dakota friend Shaking Wind.

Yes, Serenity Valley was indeed a thriving town full of diversity and culture, despite it having only five-hundred people living in it (counting Negroes, Native Americans, Chinese, Irish, and miscellaneous foreigners). Trista could never think of living in any other place during any other era, and with her knowledge of history, she had plenty of periods to choose from.

The four ladies and the single Greek boy passed through the town and arrived at the house of Trey Cush Renada, who was still at work in the Serenity Valley Bank. It would be up to Trista and Marie-Maya (and now the other kids) to clean the house and fix a meal, and since there were three other chefs now in the house, Trista was free to relax for an hour. After leading the young ones to their kitchen, she retired to a back room and drew out an old pocket watch. Trista loved tinkering with clocks and timepieces even more than her husband, but was not quite as skilled as he.

The classy lady fiddled with the piece for fifty minutes, then decided to peek in on the young children. Marie-Maya was now the commanding chef, orchestrating her three foreign friends like some handicapped conductor. They were moving around everywhere: Renee tending to a boiling pot of pasta, Apollo tossing a salad, and Hotaru frying some fish. Trista smiled warmly as she saw the young ones cooperating so easily, and was reassured that not _all_ of history was doomed to be repeated. After all, if such diverse people could agree so easily, then why shouldn't everyone else?

The hour passed, and Trey came home to a well-rested wife and three grinning children all displaying their cooking skills. He let out a chuckle and was properly introduced to them all. As luck would have it, Trey spoke very fluent Italian and Greek, and had learned a little bit of Oriental languages from the immigrant Wufei Chang, so he was able to communicate to them easily.

"Thank you, children," he smiled to them all. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. This was a very kind gesture." The kids welcomed him, and every one of them took a place at the table, Hotaru and Renee on opposite sides of Marie-Maya and Apollo across from her. Trey sat at one end of the table whereas his wife took the other, and soon hands were clasped in prayer (Rini and Apollo, both Catholics, quickly crossed themselves, and Hotaru clapped her hands twice).

"Our dear heavenly Creator," began Trey, "we each thank you for this day, and for the presence of these young ones. It makes me happy to see Marie-Maya acquire new friends, and their selfless and simple act is probably more precious to me than all the money in the bank. I thank you for them, and for the meal you made, and I thank you for delivering unto me a wife to love, and a family to cherish, and a town where I can live in peace and prosperity. Bless this dinner, O Lord, and strengthen us for the day ahead. In Your name we pray, Amen."

"Amen," chimed everyone else, and they all dug into their dinners. Trey was sure that Renee and Apollo were perfectly okay with the dinner blessing, but since he didn't know Japanese culture or religion that well, he wasn't so sure about Hotaru. The dark-haired girl didn't seem too concerned about the "different" dinner ritual, nor did she seem to mind eating with silverware.

"…Tomoe-san?" spoke Trey, gaining Hotaru's attention. His best Japanese was not that great, sadly, but Hotaru got the message. "[Are you feeling comfortable here? Is this silverware difficult, or was that prayer hard?]"

"[It's all right,]" replied the girl with a smile. "[I'm in America now. I can't expect everyone to have my same beliefs, and I can't expect everyone to know everything about my culture. I guess that's why I'm going to your school.]"

"…I see," smiled Trey. "Well, are you surprised that Marie-Maya is Mrs. Renada's stepdaughter?"

"Maybe," shrugged the dark-haired girl. "It is funny to see her this way, but I think Renada-san is used to it. Maybe I may too some day."

"Maybe," muttered Trista, taking a polite nibble of broccoli. "But remember, Miss Tomoe: you'll have to refer to me as Mrs. Renada inside the classroom. I may be your friend here, but you'll have to discern between business and pleasure." Hotaru gave Trista a quizzical look, but thankfully, Trey translated his wife's words.

"Ah so!" exclaimed the girl. "Ah, do not worry about that! If Renada-san can do it, then I can too!" The girl smiled sweetly, and soon her warm glowing face became contagious. Marie-Maya was quickly growing to like her foreign friends, especially Apollo…

When night finally came to the Renada household, Apollo, Hotaru, and Renee had already left the building. Trista and Trey both helped young Marie-Maya into bed, and kissed her goodnight. Marie-Maya wasn't uncomfortable in the least to have Trista treat her like her own daughter, nor was she anxious during class time, either. She knew to treat the woman with respect all hours of the day, whereas Trista would always have a matronly attitude towards the young girl. Even though they had no biological bond, it was almost as if Trista really was Marie-Maya's second mother.

Trista and Trey both retired to bed after tucking the young girl in, and kissed each other goodnight before slumbering. Tomorrow would most definitely be another fine day in the town of Serenity Valley.


	3. Fighting Irish

**__**

Fighting Irish

As he sat in the same bar, with the same people, under the same light, drinking the same beer, listening to the same music, hoping to see that same dancer, a very intoxicated Marquis Millard Zechs O'Craft had to wonder if there was anything constant in this life. Perhaps the only thing he could really rely on was his own tipsiness--after all, the bar might one day collapse on itself, or the people would move away or else die altogether. Lights grew dim, beer grew bland, music grew inaudible, and all women grew old and gray.

"Aye, a toast," he muttered to himself. "A toast, ta whatever appens' in th' next fehve minutes!" He lifted the glass with a surprising amount of spirit (but could never bring himself to smile) and drank what was left inside--which, after his latest binge, was not a whole lot. When the glass was empty and dry, he groaned out slightly in irritation and turned around to see if there were any waitresses around to give him a refill. Not a woman was in sight, and that was a good thing, because that bar was not a place for women.

Millard O'Craft grumbled and permanently placed his mug on the table, then turned his bleary attention towards the stage. He sat and stared at the closed reddish-orange curtains, and patiently waited for his sunshine to come through. She would not come today; no, there would be another, a substitute, someone _almost_ as good at her but not quite. Millard snorted at the thought. _Almost. Yeh, Karen is almost as good as meh sunshene, just lehke a worm is almost as deadly as a cobra. Heh, no thanks. That's a waste of meh time. Eh might's well pick meh'self up from this here stool'n see if eh can't stir up a job. Eh've been penniless long enough now; meh sunshene deserves ev'rything' eh can give her, an' more…_

Fumbling with his stool, Millard managed to swerve up to his feet and stagger two feet away from his table. Behind him, the other patrons blindly ignored him and turned all their focus towards the amazing dancer Karen--though as Millard had stated in his short mental tirade, no matter how good Karen got, she would never reach the level of his sunshine, the graceful and cheery Venus de Milo. So, with a substitute on stage instead, Millard slithered outside in the dusty heat and squinted as he prepared to face reality yet again.

The beer's mind-numbing effects were already starting to wear off…

Like almost everyone in the bar, Millard drank to forget his problems. It was true that for every man that sat in that sleazy saloon, there were at least seven other problems tugging at their elbows--but Millard was by far the most troubled out of all of them. For one, he was a naturally-born Irishman in a land that equated his people with Chinese, Native Americans, and the Negroes. Millard wasn't especially looked down upon in this town, but mostly because Serenity Valley was perhaps the most diverse place in all the west.

This was probably the only reason he moved to the dusty town, so he could live far away from the people who thought ill of him. It was true that the Chinese and Negroes and such weren't treated well even in this town, but it was far better than any other place east of the Mississippi. Besides, the people in Serenity Valley didn't know who he really was, or why he was really in America. Only one person knew his secret, and although she had a bad habit of gossiping, she would keep her lips shut on this matter.

Millard Zechs O'Craft was born in Ireland: his father was an important noble in those lands, who had descended from the Peacecraft clans, and his mother was the daughter of a Marquis from France, so technically, his full name would've been Marquis Millard Zechs O'Craft. Here in Serenity Valley, only one person knew who he was--or to be precise, who he _had_ been in the past. Now he was just a drunk Irish wasting his time in saloons and hoping to find a job where he could pay for his next ale.

But not even lineage, or ancestry, was the cause of Millard's depression. The bitter mask he wore actually came from another source, one that might make even these liberal people question his presence. Back in his home country, Millard had been one of the few people who voiced their opinions of Ireland's present state with Britain out loud. Millard was a firebrand who used every verbal weapon he had in order to fight for his people's independence, but since he was but a noble facing an entire monarchy, and since this monarchy held no love towards rebellious dissents, they had him put in chains and locked up.

Millard had been tried as a radical who supported rebellion against the crown, and was given one of the worst punishments possible by having his title stripped and all privileges with it. On further note, he was shipped to the Americas on a boat filled with disease-racked sailors, and it was only by his constant diet of sauerkraut that he was able to avoid scurvy. Millard survived until he got to the states, but even there he was repulsed. He spent the next year wandering from town to town, always being either isolated or rejected altogether, until finally his travels landed him in Serenity Valley.

So not only was he a racial minority in a foreign land, but he had also suffered a social blow to the head by having his title stripped and his person forcibly taken away from the land in which he had been living in. He had wandered the bulk of America without a place to call home, and even here in Serenity Valley he had problems, as money was scarce and few people would hire him.

So of course he had a reason to be bitter and drunk.

----------

In the desert, finding a beautiful lily is quite nearly impossible, if not completely improbable. There was no such thing as complete purity in the western wilds of America, not even in the most sacred of churches. Reverend Quatre R. Winner could've easily attested to that, he himself having problems of his own. The very nearest that a person could've gotten to purity in this frontier world was the beautiful, elegant, graceful, sophisticated, and talented vocalist that went by no other name but Venus de Milo.

As was the case with the famous work of art, Venus de Milo was a breathtaking display of human physical beauty, but she was more than just a pretty girl in a dress. Venus de Milo was the ray of sunshine for all those who were down and depressed, for whenever the lovely dancer/singer went on stage, the crowd became wildly animated and everyone cheered. Venus de Milo might've been called a whore in most other places, but in reality she was an innocent young angel who loved to see people happy. She could dance circles around her student Karen, and was probably one of the richest women in the whole town.

Venus de Milo was a girl with beautiful long golden hair and sweet sky-blue eyes. Fittingly enough, she had a lily tied in her hair. She usually wore an icy-blue dress whenever she sang or performed, though at times she would wear orange as well. The dress was beautiful enough to get the men howling, yet was also conservative enough to display to close-minded people. It showed no more leg than the area above the ankle, and although it left her shoulders bare, it was a perfectly generous piece of material everywhere else. Women secretly wanted to be like her, and of course the men wanted to be _with_ her, but they would all be in tears if they learned that her blue eyes were only attached to one.

Venus de Milo had entered into Serenity Valley about three years ago, almost the day after it first opened to the populace. She had been a sensation in France before, and had since began to travel west to experience the world. She performed in her home of New York first, then down to Virginia, and Tennessee and Louisiana, through Chicago, over in Texas, and all the way out in Serenity Valley, where it appeared as if she would permanently reside (her dream had been to go to California, and then Japan and the rest of the Orient, then to finally make her way to Moscow before returning to Europe--but that dream was long over by now).

Venus' presence in that sleazy saloon was like nothing else the town had seen. Her dancing skills were incredible, and her voice was syrupy-smooth like a siren's. She smiled a _lot_ when she danced, and blew kisses and grinned and talked to everyone within hearing distance. Venus de Milo loved to perform, and even though she knew that she was a sex symbol (which was why some people would've called her a whore), Venus' beliefs were very much steeped in morality and family values. In fact, she was hoping to start a family of her own once her career slowed down, but from the shouts of the men in the bar, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon!

One incident in particular stood out to Venus. She had been in her second year of living in Serenity Valley, and had already become a powerful icon of entertainment and fashion (and yes, desire). By now, there had not been a man in the world that did not smile when she performed, and even though she could usually attest those lusty grins to her own pretty looks, she knew that there were people out there who appreciated her for her skills, and not for her looks.

But there was one day when she failed to make a person smile. She had just gotten out on stage as always, and the men were hooting and hollering as always. Sometimes, if she looked in the right places, she would see her lady-friends in the crowd. Miss Lita Keene was always participating (with or without her poor beleaguered kidnapper), and it was always a warm sight to see Raya Hinno discreetly holding hands with Corporal Trowa Barton. Sometimes, Michelle King could be seen in the audience, and on rare occasions, Amy Anderson and even Trista Renada were there as well (the latter being accompanied by her family, of course). But even though the men were hooting and hollering, and her female friends where cheering and clapping, Venus noticed one participant who actually looked _glum._

She began with an old favorite of hers, one she had learned from her own instructor, the legendary Marianna Maraii. It was an Indian dance, one that required instruments foreign to American shores. She moved very slowly yet with the grace of flowing water, and even though her speed was lacking, the dance's strength laid in the power of her presentation. Everyone went berserk over it, except for one man, drinking by himself in the middle of the saloon.

He had his eyes downcast, probably focused on nothing at all (unless he was looking at Venus' feet). The bland look he had on his face gained the attention of the blonde angel as she danced, and although she didn't show it on the outside, the young woman couldn't help but wonder why he looked so depressed. She finished her dance with her blue eyes locked squarely on the downtrodden man, and took a single, showy bow in thanks.

"That one was taught to me by the legendary Marianna Maraii," she said after bowing. "It comes all the way from the far eastern shores of India, and now I've presented it to you! But now, I wanna take things up a notch, with a hot-blooded Russian bergamask I learned while studying in Romania! Maestro, if you please!" The music cued up once again, this time in a fast and furious Siberian melee, and Venus de Milo used every single fiber of skill she had to pull off the violent dance. There was so much thrusting and waving and chaos in the performance that her heart nearly burst, and yet the crowd could never get enough.

The dance lasted three minutes, and by the time Venus pulled off her final flashy move, everyone was giving her a standing ovation. A few lusty men began racing up to the stage to show just how much they had _really_ enjoyed the show, and even though Venus had exhausted herself, she could still fight them off.

"Now now, boys!" she chided, giving them all swift kicks in their guts. "You're just gonna have to control yourselves! One more outburst like that and I'll have you expelled from this place!!" The men, fearing expulsion even more than a physical beating, scampered away and sat down once again. Even though she always threatened to kick her lusty suitors out if they made any more unwanted advancements, there would still be plenty of men who dashed after her after each performance.

The man with the monotone face hadn't even twitched. Venus raised a subtle eyebrow as she beheld his dark features, and her kind heart went out for him. She had put enough zest in that last dance to cheer up a funeral procession, and yet this man continued to look dark and moody. Not wanting to leave any "customers" dissatisfied, Venus pulled out the very last weapon in her artillery and gave her viewers an innocent smile.

"And now I'd like to close with a song," she began. "This one is dedicated to all the people out there who are hurting on the inside, and whose hearts are laden with trouble and worry."

"Does that mean us too?!" shouted the men she had beaten. Venus giggled and nodded her head.

"Sure. This one goes out to you guys, as well."

__

When I first saw you sitting there,

With that look on your face

I wanted to show you something wonderful

But everything seemed so out of place.

So instead of walking over to you,

And making myself look like such a fool,

I toiled away burning the midnight oil

And worked out a song for you to rule.

Now I know that it's nothing special,

I wanted it to reach your very soul

It came from beneath the very bottom of my heart

And from the emptiness that's left in the hole…

So here's a little number just for you

I made it up as I watched you gaze

I hope you enjoy it; please listen to what I say

And allow me to get lost in your face.

After finishing her breathtaking song, Venus concluded by blowing a big kiss (aimed at the depressed man in hopes of drawing out a smile) and winking at the crowd, then bowed her way backstage. She gave one last glance at the crowd, and saw that the despondent man's eyes had moved just slightly. Instead of staring at the floor, they had now followed Venus as she vanished behind the curtains.

"Miss Venus!" shouted her manager as emerged. "That was quite possibly _the_ most magnificent performance I have ever seen to date! Where do you get such energy?!"

"Aw, you know," she said with a wink. "An artist never reveals their secrets!"

"Oh, not even to her manager?"

"Sorry!" she grinned. "I wouldn't even tell a gentleman caller!" Her manager gave her a moan, smiled, and kissed her hands.

"Well, I will give you your privacy if you continue to perform like that!"

"Will do!" she cried, holding up her index finger as she winked at him. "Oh, by the way, I think I found somebody to accompany me to dinner this evening!"

"Ah, has there been a gentleman out there that has caught your eye?"

"You could say that," she said mysteriously. "Just make sure to give the invitation to the gentleman sitting in the center row at the center table. He has long light-blonde hair with silvery-blue eyes. You'll know him because he's the only one out there who isn't smiling."

"Not smiling?" parroted her manager. "What in the world do you mean?"

"Just give him the invitation, Francois!" she exclaimed as she tilted her head to the side. Her manager agreed and called for one of the waitresses to subtly slip an invitation at the desired table. To draw the eyes of Venus de Milo, and to be summoned for a private dinner meeting, was a privilege that many men would literally give their right arm for. Venus wasn't in the habit of inviting just anybody (it was usually old friends who made the list), so to make this request was a very special event indeed.

The waitress swerved around here and there after the show, until she came to Millard's table. She secretly slipped a piece of paper on his table while putting another drink on, and left to attend to other people. Millard did not see the paper until much later, but when he did read it, his curiosity was piqued.

__

Hi! Remember me? I'm the dancer you just saw performing another one of my favorite moves! I saw you while I was stunning everybody else, and I thought that it might be interesting if we got together a little later for dinner! Come back here at 7:00 and the whole place will be empty so that it's just you and me! Well, I'll be looking forward to seeing you!

Your angel,

Venus de Milo

Millard regarded the note with disdain. He was not so naïve as to think that this was a handwritten letter. Venus probably made a General Invitation to pass out to anybody who grabbed her fancy, and here he was with just another copy. Millard chuckled blandly as he read the impersonal letter, and nearly tossed it away. But he was not so rude as to decline an offer from a lady, and besides, the dinner would probably be on the house. He hadn't eaten a good meal in years, so it would suit him well to take this offer.

Besides, she was pretty.

After a full day of disappointment, Millard returned to the saloon with his best clothes on and his best manners at hand. True enough, the place was completely empty, save for the beautiful Venus, who was still wearing that same beautiful blue dress, or else a fresh one that looked exactly the same. Venus gave Millard a smile and a curtsy as he walked in, and he bowed his head before kissing her hand as a noble should.

"I'm glad that Francois got the right person," she said as she greeted him. "Sometimes he messes up and invites somebody I never even knew was out there! Hahahahaha! Oh, I never refuse their company, of course, but… well, it _can_ get annoying!" She grinned at him, and even though he didn't return the smile, he was still a gentleman enough to pull out a chair for her. As they sat down, one of the waitresses who had been asked by Venus to stay around came to their table, and asked if they wanted a drink or appetizer. Millard didn't want to drink beer in private with a lady, so he chose white wine since it was Friday; Venus had the same.

"So," she began, "tell me who you are!"

"Eh wonder why ye invited meh here," replied Millard softly. "Eh'm grateful for th' dinner an' th' company, but if it's all th' same, eh'm curious as to know why a ray'a sunshine lehke yerself is askin' me to sup with ye." Venus still held onto her smile as she stared into his eyes, but by now it had faded so much that it might as well have passed altogether.

"Well, when I was dancing, I noticed that everybody in the room was smiling and having a good time except for yourself. I don't like it when my audience doesn't smile at my performance, and I was dancing my heart out with that bergamask. So why didn't you look very cheerful?" Millard snorted lightly and took a sip of the wine when it came to him. He certainly didn't want to talk about such painful manners while eating, especially not when a lady was present.

"Eh, ye dun' wanna know," he sighed. "It's nothin' fit fer a lady ta hear."

"Don't underestimate me just because I'm a pretty girl," she warned him. "I've been around the world, and I've seen more than my fair share of troubling things. I'm not as innocent as I look, Mister…… uhh……"

"Millard O'Craft," said he, tipping an imaginary hat. Venus nodded her head.

"Well, I'm not as innocent as I look, Mr. O'Craft, so don't think that what you'll have to say will make me uncomfortable. Just tell me, and let me say whether it's all horrors or not." Millard sighed, taking another sip of his wine as he groaned, and gave Venus a dead gaze as he opened himself up.

"All right, lass. Now don' say that eh didn'a warn ye…"

----------

"…an' eh've been movin' from town ta town, tryin' ta find mehself some place that eh can at least sit down at without havin' to be th' center of ev'ryone's scorn. Eh've been wand'rin' this country for th' better part of a year, and eh've yet ta fehnd th' place, though eh may stay here since it hasn't been too rough on meh. Well, that's meh story, an' eh guess it's up ta you ta see'f it's proper fer ladies."

As Millard cleared his throat after telling his story, he stole a glance at his companion and saw that the sunny girl was frozen stiff with amazement. A lump had formed in her throat, and her breathing had became shallow, despite what her previous claims had been. He simply finished the last sip of his wine, hiding the small bubble of pride that had emerged in his chest. Even with his eyes closed and his emotions hidden, he still had an "I told you so" look on his face.

"…I… I'm sorry," whispered Venus, letting a breath out as she cleared her mind with wine. "I… I really shouldn't have prodded, eh?"

"It's all right now," he shrugged. "Though eh still can't get over any o' it, eh guess eh really can't worry too much about it, eh? Eh'm so far aweh, an' eh'm so poor that eh can barely even feed m'self…" Millard trailed off, and decided to remedy the last part of his speech by cutting his fish apart and chewing on it. Venus, meanwhile, played with her vegetables while she spoke.

"I guess I never really considered that I'd be dancing for a former Marquis," she muttered. "…And I guess you have a reason to not smile. But Mr. O'Craft--can I cal you Millard?"

"Aye."

"Thanks. Well, Millard, I have a little problem with people that don't seem to appreciate what I do. Now, I'm not saying that you didn't enjoy that dance, I'm just saying that if I don't see my audience having a good time, then I feel bad for the rest of the day. I'm fairly insecure about what I do, and if I get the impression that I couldn't make somebody happy--say, yourself--then I won't feel good for the rest of the day."

"Eh didn'a know that this was that important to ye," he said.

"Well, it is. I've been dancing ever since I was four years old, and it's been a profession of mine for the past six or so years, so it's pretty darned important--though I guess it's really nothing next to what you were doing. I mean, fighting for independence from the Victorian empire?! That's pretty large-scale!" Millard dismissed her hidden compliment with a gruff wave of his hand, and ate at his fish until there was nothing left but bones.

"So anyway," she continued as he ate, "I want to ask you to do me a favor."

"What?" Gently, she placed her hand on his, and gave him her brightest smile.

"Millard… would you please smile for me when I go up there to dance next? I know you're going through some very hard times, but you can't stay in a slough forever. Sooner or later, things will start to look up for you, but until they do, can I get you to smile for me? Just once, at least?" Millard's eyes widened a fraction as he regarded the beautiful young lady, and perhaps for her sake only, he gave her his best attempt at a smile. Venus discovered that Millard had a particularly nice smile, and even squealed out her feelings.

"Oh, wow! Hey, you really have something there!!" Millard continued to smile, and to his surprise, the emotion was growing more and more genuine.

"…Miss Venus," he said, "eh really was watchin' ye dance. It migh' not've looked it, but eh was watchin' ev'rythin' ye did. An'…… well, eh guess eh shouldn't'a held back meh smile."

"…You were really watching me?" she whispered. He nodded his head.

"Aye. ……Eh was smilin' on th' insehde."

"You really shouldn't do that!!" she exclaimed, giving him a heavy push. "If you feel a grin coming on, then go ahead and let the whole world know!!"

"…But, eh--"

"But nothing!" she argued. "Please, Millard…… don't be stingy when it comes to emotions. Okay, so you've had a bad past. Does that give you any excuse to have a bad present??" Millard, who for the life of him couldn't think of a good argument against her case, merely sighed heavily.

"Nay… Eh guess it don'."

"So lighten up!" she said, giving him another push. "At least for me! C'mon! Hey, I'll tell you what! I'll dedicate my next dance to you if you smile at it!"

"Ya sure?" he questioned her. Venus swore on it, and Millard gave her another smile. "…Aye, thanks Venus. All right, eh think eh can smile if it's just fer you."

From that day forward, Millard would haunt the same saloon every day, often seeing the same people and drinking the same beer. He would never show much happiness after that, mostly because he had no viable reason for it, but every time the lovely Venus de Milo danced, he would beam back at her with as much warmth as he could. There was never a time when he did not go to the saloon, and if there did ever come a time, it was usually when the angelic blonde was absent. Her substitute was great, but nowhere near as good as the master dancer, and that was why Millard never stuck around long.

But he was a patient man. If Venus de Milo was not able to make it that night, then he would just have to wait until the next. His hunt for a job occupied that time, but when Venus was up on the stage, it was a guarantee that Millard would be there as well, in the center row at the center table, holding a beer and smiling at his sunshine.


	4. Scherzo of Smoke and Liquor

**__**

Scherzo of Smoke and Liquor

When an infamous robber kidnapped Lita Keene from South Carolina and decided to hold her hostage, he got _much_ more than he bargained for. Back then, the only thing he could see was her wealthy landowner parents, and how much money he would get for her safe return. Lita Keene was well-loved and spoiled by her parents, especially her father, and the infamous robber knew for certain that they would pay any amount of money he asked.

But what the robber _didn't_ notice was the fact that Lita Keene also knew that her parents would pay any amount for her safe return. She knew full well that the amount would be large, at least five digits long, and she also knew that she had to be _alive_ for the kidnapper to collect. Therefore, Lita did absolutely everything in her power to annoy and irritate her kidnapper. Ever since the day he stole her from her plantation, she had literally bugged him at every waking hour, and never once let him go without some kind of annoying thought of the day.

The good news was that the Keenes were very willing to pay whatever amount the robber wanted. The bad news was that the trouble Lita put him through might not have been worth it. She figured that, although harsh and cold on the outside, her kidnapper was not the kind of person to kill people on a whim. Even though she bugged him every waking hour, and even though he had came dangerously close to blasting her to pieces on more than one occasion, there was still a kind of strange understanding between the two.

"If you want that money," she had reminded him several times, "then you'll need me alive! So there!!" The robber, a man called Heero (though nobody knew why), would always grumble at her and give her a dead stare, but she was right--if he wanted that money, he would have little choice but to keep her alive. In fact, her parents would probably refuse payment if the girl was injured, so no matter how tempting it was to knock her out, Heero couldn't afford the loss.

Like some kind of twisted knight on a white horse, Heero took Lita as far away from her home in Carolina as he could, riding into the sunset multiple times on the same dark-haired horse. Lita would hug him from behind like some heroine in a romance novel, but she plainly assured him that there was no love in the gesture--she just did not wish to fall off.

They traveled from the east to the west, avoiding the law as best they could and generally stirring up lots of trouble (Heero brewed up more legal trouble, while Lita was just trouble to her kidnapper). They would eventually make their way to Serenity Valley, that blistering dustbowl of heat and love. As soon as they arrived, Lita insisted upon staying, and no threats from Heero's part would make her say otherwise, so he was stuck as well.

Heero did his absolute best to remain hidden while staying in Serenity Valley. After all, he couldn't leave without dragging Lita away, and he couldn't walk around in the day for fear of being recognized. The most he could do was change his clothes and hope that the minor disguise would suffice. He had came into the town wearing black all over, and unless he wanted his familiar façade to be seen by the local sheriff, he would have to change his outer wear. Lita Keene was just sweet enough to offer her assistance in redressing him, on the condition that he would try to act like a normal guy. He simply gave her a blank stare in reply.

Heero eventually got suited for a sky-blue button-down dress shirt and tweed leggings of the same color. He looked about as threatening as a blade of grass in his new getup, and Lita seemed to be the only person who truly appreciated his new look. Most everyone else tried not to pay him too much attention; some people had the nerve to snicker, though.

"Ah don't know what yer all's problem is!" she would say. "This here's the latest fashion from Paris, France! Ev'ryone's a-wearin' them!" The limited fashion moguls in the town, all three of them, would sober up and take notes on the new style, whereas most everyone would snort and wave hands of disbelief. Heero would be even more embarrassed than before, but of course Lita assured him that all was well.

"(You wanna look lahke a normal man, raht? Okay then, so like, just try to keep yer cool'n I'll handle the rest.)" She smiled and slapped his back, and joined him as he tried to drink away his sorrows. Lita had been shadowing Heero ever since he had kidnapped her the previous year, and although at first her goal was to literally annoy him to death, she was really starting to like being in his company. One day, during a rare moment of privacy, Lita had confided in a trusted friend about her situation, and the scholarly woman gave a rather distressing reply.

"Stockholm syndrome," explained Lita's friend Amy. "It's a condition where the victim falls in love with the person who kidnapped them."

"Oh, golly! You think ah have that?!" Amy had shrugged and gave Lita her gentlest stare.

"It's possible. You say that you treat him better now than you did when you first met?"

"Well, yessum ah do!" Lita had sang. "Back then, ah couldn't stand his sorry face, n'so ah did ev'rythin' in mah power to get him to let me go. Shucks, ah guess even gettin' shot woulda been better'n gettin' dragged around bah that man! But…… well, ah guess you could say that ah _did_ grow rather attached to him…"

"Then you have Stockholm syndrome," Amy had sighed. "It sounds disturbing, but I've seen it happen. I suppose that it's possible, even with the kind of man you are suggesting." Lita gave her friend a joyless lopsided smile.

"Golly…… Ah guess ah _have_ taken a shahne to that man! Imagine that!" Amy had nodded her head, but her concern for her friend was too great to allow her any happiness.

"Excuse me for asking, but is this 'person' by any means cruel or abusive to you?"

"Naw," smiled Lita, "he ain't that bad. He's all bark'n no bahte. He talks big but he don't mean half'a the things he says."

"So… he's not threatening?" Amy had questioned. Lita had smiled and shrugged.

"Ah guess so. But ah do declare that all'a my pesterin' might've fahnally gotten to him. Shucks, the man maht even lahke _me!_"

"It is possible," Amy had admitted. "From what I hear and read, if two people spend enough time together by themselves, then they'll probably end up caring for each other, even if they have despised each other in the past. The same situation could be applied to yourself."

"Dawg-gone!" Lita had shrieked as she slapped her knee. "If that don't just beat all! Well ah guess ah've been struck bah the bow of Cupid hisself! And dog-gonned if it wasn't with an outlaw to boot!" Her smile was as broad as she was tall, but Amy's meek nature was not quite as happy.

"I'm not so sure about this…"

"Aw, stop worryin', darlin'!" Lita had exclaimed. "You worry too much. You need to relax and let loose sometahmes! It feels raht nahce to let it all hang out!"

"…That doesn't sound very lady-like…" murmured Amy. Lita had smiled and ruffled her friend's short hair.

"Hahaha… Awright, ya got me there… So I ain't much of a lady! Well, that man that kidnapped me shore ain't much of a gentleman, ah tell you what! But hey, thanks for list'nin' to me, Miss Amy! Ah'm glad ah got a sweet lil' friend lahke you to confide in!" Lita then stood out of her chair and gave her friend a hug and two polite kisses on her cheeks, then waved at the girl as she strolled back to where her kidnapper would probably be.

Since Heero had some precious time off, he was drowning his suffering inside a bottle of whiskey. He sat somewhere in the town saloon, not too far away from where the angst-filled Millard O'Craft was. Heero and Millard never really saw eye-to-eye that much, but since the Irishman's attention was drawn towards the stage and the beautiful dancer performing on it, Heero would be left alone.

That is, until Lita stormed into the saloon with a big goofy smile on her face. Venus de Milo, who was partners in fashion with the southern belle, didn't miss a beat in her dancing as she saw the taller woman enter the bar. Lita knew that her friend was busy entertaining the crowd, but luckily the blonde angel wasn't her destination--Heero was. Like a bloodhound, Lita snooped out her kidnapper from the crowd and made a beeline straight for his table.

"Oh, great…" he muttered to himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah came to see you!" she declared as she joined him. Heero sighed in annoyance, and knew that once Lita had her eyes set on something, she wouldn't give up until she got it. There was no escape for Heero, and besides, he was too drunk to run.

"Ah was talkin' with Miss Amy recently, and she told me somethin' that you maht find a trahfle interestin'!"

"Not likely," he muttered, but she told him anyway.

"Seems lahke I've developed a little twisted romantic feelin' for ya!" she sang. "Ah know it sounds strange, but you gotta admit that ah've been treatin' you a lot better in these past few days--and you have too!!" Heero didn't answer her, but he did answer his increasing thirst for alcohol. Lita gave him a lopsided frown as he sank deeper into his seat, and slapped his cheek lightly with the back of her hand.

"Hey, what's eatin' at you?" she asked. "Do ya really think it's strange that I've grown attached to you? Big bad ol' Heero, the nasty ol' robber who kidnapped poor defenseless lil' Miss Lita? You really think it's strange?" A pause. Heero took in a deep breath, _and_ a deep draft, and wiped his mouth before paying her any attention.

"…It's not so much as strange as it is unwise," he said. "Lita, you know that I'm a deadly criminal who'll do anything to keep surviving. Crime is the only thing I know how to do: kidnapping, looting, plundering, taking people hostage… Everything. I'm not the type of person that you should be with."

"Yeah, ah know," she said with a smile. "Ah'm just nuts in the head, that's all. But you gotta admit, sometimes it's nahce to have me around."

"Not really," he muttered. "You're an annoyance. You never leave me alone, and you're always following me around--or else acting immature and childish. Remember when you jumped on my back and forced me to walk around St. Louis with you on me the whole time?"

"Yeah, that was a hoot!" grinned the belle. Heero grunted softly and gave her a subtle negative look.

"I hated it," he muttered. "I'm not bothered that you don't kick and scream at every chance you get. I _am_ glad for that. But you're an irritation everywhere else. You don't even give me a single moment of peace for myself."

"Yup, that's raht," she said softly. "Ah don't leave you no tahme for yerself. At first, ah was just annoyin' you on purpose--you know, to show you who was boss--but…… Well, ah guess that after awhile, ah really got to lahke you. I mean, you're not a really bad guy, and ah really lahke bein' with you. Ah know you got a ways to go before yer really a gentleman…"

"No thanks," muttered Heero as he downed another sip. "Remember, I'm just keeping you until your parents can pay for your return. And when they do pay, it'll be a _lot_ of money……"

"Ah think you lahke me!" she whispered sweetly. "Ah really think you lahke me!"

"No chance," he grumbled. Lita snorted at him sourly and gave him a gentle punch in the face.

"Yer a stubborn lil' mule, but ah'll get to you yet! Ah'll make you see that yer a really nahce man, an' not some nasty ol' robber who kidnaps purty lil' ladies!" She smiled at him, but she only got his usual empty stare in return. Still, her tenacity was powerful, and her charm even more so.

"Ah'll get to you," she whispered. Heero merely grunted and shrugged, and left to bar in an attempt to be alone. Lita rose and tagged along like an over-loyal puppy, and made sure that her kidnapper didn't hurt himself. He was, after all, quite drunk, and the smoke coming from the bar didn't help him either. He actually did almost stumble, but thankfully, Lita caught him. Her arms went around his chest, and she sweetly nuzzled her nose against the back of his neck.

"I gotcha, hon," she said. "I gotcha. And I ain't gonna let you go--never, not even once." She kissed his neck, but he only groaned. _Maybe being publicly hanged isn't such a bad way to go after all…_ he thought. Lita didn't notice the subtle change in his attitude, so she merely held his hand to make sure he didn't stumble, and the two unlikely travelers became lost in the crowds of the Serenity Valley marketplace.

Their day was filled with the usual mischief and hard times, and their evenings were filled with quiet and reflection. Heero and Lita had had a fairly strange relationship up to that point--she pestering him and most likely harboring romantic feelings for him, and he just merely ignoring her and attempting to live in secrecy. During the daytime, Lita would hang onto him like a child to its mother, but during the night, she actually gave him the privacy he needed. She was kind enough (and skilled enough) to cook all his meals for him, but they ate in silence, even after experiencing something grand.

Candlelit dinners would become romantic in the distant future, but in those days, it was the norm. Living in a small wooden house, bathing in the glow of the candle as the cool night air whispered outside, eating delicious food made by a woman who knew her way around the kitchen……… It was the stuff dreams were made of, but it seemed as if Heero didn't care for any of it. He was a quiet sort, very self-reliant, and tried to keep to himself most of the time. Lita never bothered to give him privacy during daylight, but at night, it was another story.

After eating dinner, Lita set about to cleaning he plates and Heero went wherever he went at that hour--usually to bed. He knew that if he left, Lita might either attempt an escape or else try to look for him, so exiting their temporary house was out of the question. Lita went inside her room to dress while Heero did the same, and came out wearing a pretty silky-white nightgown that her parents had imported from France; Heero just wore long johns. He also allowed Lita to sleep on the only bed in the house, while he himself took the couch or the floor, so there was some trace of a gentleman in him.

"Oh Heero!" Lita gazed at her captor with a blank face that threatened to grow a smile, and winked playfully at him. "Sleep well, sugar. And remember what ah said. Ah'll get you one'uh these days!" She flashed him a smile, and daintily walked off until she came to her room. There was a window in her room, but it had a screen on it, and it was too small for her to fit through, so there was no way for her to escape. Heero didn't have to worry about a thing…… Not a single thing…

Except her "promise".

"…Yeah," he muttered once she was gone. Without another word, he slipped into the embrace of the couch and slipped into a slumber that bore him no dreams.


	5. The Fifth Commandment

Author's note: Warning! This chapter will contain lots and LOTS of theologically-centered words and thoughts. If you don't like the idea of God, Jesus, etc., then by all means, get over it. I'm still trying to be as accurate to the Western setting as I can, and from what I know, the people of that era and age were fairly spiritually-oriented. Thanks go out to Myst Lady (or whatever her author name is now) for _not_ asking me to do this during the Puritan movement. (shudder) I just can't see the Gundam boys and the Sailor girls during the Salem Witch Trials… nor can I see them getting grilled by Jonathan Edwards. Anyway…

**__**

The Fifth Commandment

Coming to America was hardly the worst experience of Michelle King's life. After all, this "new world" was certainly holding its own along with the rest of civilization. It was one of the few places that was not under Victorian rule--in fact, in a rather bold move some one-hundred years earlier, it had actually declared itself a republic, one that would be ruled by elected officials, and not by lineage or power. The new thought was amazing to Michelle King, and perhaps this was what attracted her, and so many others, to the country.

Michelle also had a legitimate reason for coming to the states. Her father, an English Earl, had wanted Michelle to visit America in order to marry into a wealthy and/or influential family. The senior King, like a few of the hierarchy in Victorian England, felt a little dissatisfied that he had been given a daughter and not a son, but still tried to turn the situation into something beneficiary by nearly forcing his daughter to make the move. But, just as Michelle had little choice concerning her father, so she also had little desire to disobey him. After all, she _did_ want to go to America very much.

Luckily for her, the entire country was devoid of her stiff parent. Michelle had ridden on the ship to America by herself, without the presence of her father, so she would be free to see all of the country by herself. Just like a true woman, Michelle would have preferred to marry somebody she loved, and who loved her in return. And if this nice young man was rich, then all the better!

She had to admit that this thought was rather fanciful. The odds of finding a man who was both rich and reasonably around her age were a million to one. She herself was almost nineteen, the "proper age that a young lady should consider marriage", said her father. Michelle was only rich by way of lineage, so unless she found someone extremely similar to herself, she'd probably have to regrettably give herself to some fat old codger (shudders!). Michelle was a little more talented than she was intelligent, but she was still bright enough to know that she would never find complete and total happiness in America. Either she would be disappointed, or her father would, and that was that.

But the young musician/artist genuinely tried. She wanted to make her father happy first and foremost, and would improvise from then on out. She initially made a stop in places like Boston, Philadelphia, and New York, and though her search found her many young men, and many rich men, they were very rarely the same person. Not only did Miss King search for a person that would make her father happy, but herself as well. A hopeless romantic and poet to the end, she felt that a life lived without love was nary worth living at all, and so was forever stuck with one option or the other.

Her pursuits took her westward, until she came to Serenity Valley……

In a dark room bathed by the gentle light of the sun, a young man with a burden on his shoulder quietly stepped into the opposite side of the booth, his identity veiled by a thin wooden wall. The person on the other side, a trustworthy priest, would not be able to see who was confessing to him and thus, the anonymity of the sinner would forever remain. It was best that the priest knew the sin and not the sinner, anyway.

"…Forgive me Brother, for I have sinned," sighed the troubled youth. He cleared his mind, and cleared his soul with his confession. "…I… I am afraid that I have broken several of the Commandments."

"Go on, my brother," said the priest gently. The young man did.

"…I… believe that it is the tenth commandment that I broke. I am… envious of somebody."

"Go on."

"Yes, well…… I have… well, been envious of those more fortunate than myself. …And I am also… well… ahh…"

"Go on, my brother. Only the Lord Almighty will know your sin."

"…Brother," whispered the troubled man, "is it wrong… to envy a young woman if she is… well… unattached?" A pause.

"What do you mean?"

"…I think it is lust," whispered the young man, "but perhaps it is not. I am just feeling great compassion and love towards her, but… Well…"

"From what you are saying, I see no great sin," replied the priest. "I sense that you are also very much down on your luck, my brother." A pause.

"Yes, Brother. I am."

"It is not wrong to wish for better financial security," replied the priest. "And it is not wrong to love other people, especially--considering your apparent age--a young lady. You do not place your love for her over anything else?" Another pause.

"…Perhaps I _do_ need to devote more time to God," whispered the young man. "I have been searching for meaningful work, and for a significant other, for far too long… Maybe it really is time to let them go for now."

"Place your problems in the hands of Almighty God," replied the priest. "I am sure that He will find a place where you may serve best, and I am also certain that he may bless you with somebody to love. Just trust him in this, my brother, and your troubles will ease."

"So it is just the first commandment I have broken, eh…" The priest grunted out a quiet affirmation, and began his benediction. The young man on the other side of the confession booth sighed with relief, and placed his face in his hands to clear his thoughts. The scriptures were right--confession _was_ good for the soul.

"God bless you, my brother," said the priest gently. The young man thanked him, and left with a much lighter burden around his shoulders. Once the chapel was cleared again, the priest emerged from the booth, took a deep breath, and decided that it was time to eat. _Man may not live on bread alone,_ he thought to himself, _but that does not dismiss my hunger any less. A fine meat pie will do me good._

The priest, Reverend Quatre R. Winner, was but one of many diamonds in the rough strip of land that Serenity Valley occupied. Though the dust and the insufferable heat scorched many bodies and melted many brains, the revered Reverend kept not only his health and his sanity, but also his spiritual connection. Reverend Winner was a true man of God, despite his rather young age. Many people in Serenity Valley confided in him secrets that even their closest friends would find appalling. Of course, this unloaded a great deal of stress on his shoulders.

His job was particularly stressful because of his young age. Quatre had been apprenticing in the local churches as soon as he could walk--first by being a choir boy, then by diving into the scriptures and seriously giving the occupation a good thorough study. He was not quite as knowledgeable as some of the older priests, but he definitely knew more about the Bible than most people twice his age. His age hid his knowledge and experience; newcomers scoffed at first whenever they heard of his skill.

The pressures of being a priest were oftentimes overwhelming to the young man. Not only was he required to bear the burdens of other people on his shoulders, but he was also expected to exude a kind of holy aura wherever he went. People would always watch him and expect him to not only be on his godliest behavior, but to also perform with a purity no matter what the situation was. Quatre had to have all the fruits of the spirit in him, and if the young man slipped ever, even once, then he could be banned a hypocrite.

He _also_ had to deliver unto the people a message that they could not only understand, but to also apply for their lives. Quatre knew all too well that this was not just a man of the cloth standing behind a podium delivering a sacred speech to a half-awake congregation--this was the battle for humankind, being waged right on Earth. This was not just a Sunday afternoon gathering, this was a secret meeting of the Christian society, converging together to listen to the latest reports from both the enemy's side and the Supreme Commander's side--and Quatre was but one of the few people who delivered such an important message. The stress was undoubtedly large.

He felt as if so few people really understood and received his message. Oh sure, the good people of Serenity Valley heard him talk about this and that, but he felt as if very few of them really _understood_ what he was trying to say. He was at least relieved to see such a healthy mixture of people attending services. There were the usual assortment of sophisticated and "important" people who had came from the east, and on the other side of the spectrum, the rugged frontiersmen with animal skins, unshaven faces, and rough accents.

Quatre also smiled mentally as he saw the Chinese railroad workers come every once in awhile; Wufei Chang was probably the most regular attendee of that bunch. There were a few Greeks, and a healthy dosage of Italians and Irish (who, despite having Catholic backgrounds, came to this Protestant gathering anyway), and of course, every Negro in town as well. Quatre, who took his scriptures very seriously, had preached on more than one occasion that all humans were brothers and sisters who shared the same lineage, and that nobody should be discriminated because of origin or skin color. Quatre would sometimes get in trouble for his "radical" ideas, but most everyone in Serenity Valley applauded his "new" way of thinking.

"In the beginning," he had said in one of his sermons, "did God not create only two people, Adam and Eve, from the dust of the Earth and his own breath? Were there more? No, of course not! Therefore, according to logic, which I will gladly use to illustrate my point, all men and all women really came from the same place, and I quote: 'God made man in His image'. Therefore, cast not a hateful eye upon the Chinese workers, for they are your brothers and sisters, and cast not thy back to the Negroes, for they are your brothers and sisters, and cast not a scornful word upon the Natives of this land, for they too are your brothers and sisters."

"Tell it on the mountain!!" shouted the over-enthusiastic Dewy Maxwell. Quatre smiled warmly at the young man's zest, and continued on with his sensible sermon.

"Did not the Lord Jesus say, and I quote, 'Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them'? I for one back this advice up with all my heart, and so should you, lest the Lord God find you accountable."

Indeed, Reverend Winner was a stickler for equality among all men, and more than once did he express his views, and oftentimes did he do so outside the church doors. His was the kind of presence and voice that could calm any quarrel or separate any enemy, and even though he was young, the good people of Serenity Valley listened to him.

"The scriptures tell us to not be intimidated just because of our own lack of age," he would often argue. "For was not Samuel a mere boy when the Lord spoke to him? And was not David a mere boy when he slew Goliath? Then again, was not Abraham an old man when the Lord came to him bearing promises of a child?" Of course, with Reverend Winner's impressive but imperfect knowledge of the Bible, he won almost every argument thrown at him, except for those few he knew he could not win.

"I have more questions than I do answers," he often admitted. "Believe me you, even the strongest shall become weak, and even the wisest may be reduced to fools. There is no one good in this world, only the Father; all else have fallen."

"Preach it like it is, brother!!" cheered Dewy Maxwell. He would sometimes give the Reverend a hearty slap on the back or the shoulder, in which Quatre would reply with a thanks.

"Excuse me, Reverend Winner?" Quatre also received questions from everybody on a near-daily basis, and thankfully, most of these were ones he could answer. This one in particular came from the wise but financially poor Raya Hinno, the daughter of a coal miner.

"Yes, Raya?" She smiled.

"Tell me again about the poor." Quatre smiled, and directed one of his more favorite passages to the dark-haired girl.

"Lord Jesus said, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven'." Raya Hinno smiled in comfort, and was apparently satisfied that her poverty would not be upon her for all of time. She, who had a full-time job working in the church as a kind of priest's assistant, probably drew more comfort from the scriptures than most other people.

"Brother Quatre?" The crowd parted slightly, but for good reason: the famed dancer, Venus de Milo, was approaching the young man in her usual satin blue dress. The men whistled and called out to her; ever-polite Quatre gave her a smile and wondered what she wanted.

"Brother," she began, "you know the Bible more than any young person here. You've spent your whole life dedicated to that cause, and for that, I would like to dedicate a powerful dance to you some day! But please, Father, answer me this: are my actions in the tavern pleasing to the Lord, or are they as whorish as people claim?" Quatre, who figured that Venus might ask this kind of question one day, took a deep breath and searched his soul for the best answer. Being a young priest sure wasn't easy.

"So the Lord Jesus did silence the Pharisee's questions with questions of his own, so I too shall ask you one as well. Child, I do not know you as well as other people who visit this saloon, so I must beg for your forgiveness when I ask if the rumors concerning your so-called prostitution are correct."

"Nah, none of it's true," said Venus with a smile. "I may seem like a loose woman, but I'm really not. Of course, I don't actually go to church or anything like that…"

"Church attendance should have little to do with the end result of one's life," answered Quatre wisely. "There may be people who visit such a place every day and wind up in Hades, or else a person who never set foot inside a monastery yet is the first through Heaven's gates. It is not your presence in the church, but Jesus' presence in _you._"

"Oh," muttered Venus. "Well, I, uh, I dunno if I have that, either. I mean, I'm not a bad person or anything…"

"That is a start," noted Quatre. "…My sister, would it interest you to attend services at least once?"

"I dunno," smiled Venus sheepishly. "I just might end up embarrassing myself. You know… I kinda built up a reputation around here…"

"God cares not for your reputation, and so neither do I. If, however, you do feel uncomfortable in such a place, I can definitely arrange a more private sermon."

"Nah, just gimme a book or two," said Venus with a smile. "Lemme do this by myself for awhile and then I'll see what happens."

"All right," he conceded. "I'll start by loaning you a few notes I made, concerning the apostle Paul's letters to the churches in Corinth and Rome. If you must start anywhere, Venus, you should start there." Venus de Milo thanked the slightly-older man for his notes, and quietly left the square before some of the less-sober people had a chance to catch up with her (of course, with Millard O'Craft around, Venus would never be within harm's way).

Every night, Quatre went to bed with a hundred prayers on his lips, and every night he was given comfort until the next morning, and mindless dreams that never went anywhere, and the ever-present loneliness of a man so devoted to his beliefs. In short, this Adam needed an Eve.

__

"The Lord God said, 'It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.' […] So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man's ribs and closed up the place with flesh. Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man." --Genesis, 2: 18-23 (excerpt)

So, it was only inevitable that Michelle and Quatre should meet one day…

Quatre didn't exactly wake up with a faint stinging sensation in his chest, but he _did_ have a rather peculiar dream concerning the creation of the first man and woman. Spurned by some sudden strange curiosity, Quatre went for his Bible and leafed up to Genesis, scanning over the words until he came to said creation of said humans.

"'It is not good for a man to be alone'…" he read to himself. "'I will make a helper suitable for him'. …Fall into a deep sleep… huh?" Having recalled just waking up from his nightly rest, Quatre rubbed his chin in thought and pondered over the words again. Had God somehow snuck into his dreams and whispered about a future confrontation with a lady? Would this woman indeed be of help to Quatre, overburdened as he was? Would she be his "Eve"?

"How ridiculous," scoffed the Reverend--but then he reconsidered the dream. "…But then again, Sarah was stricken with muteness for laughing at God's angel, and so should I be a little more faithful with the Lord. Indeed, perhaps I should start out a little earlier in an attempt to spot this lady out. It certainly couldn't hurt." So, with his faith resting in the God he devoted himself to, Quatre cleaned himself, dressed, ate, and stepped outside into the cool early morning air, one hour ahead of his usual schedule.

He was naturally greeted by many people as he walked through the dusty town. Dewy Maxwell and his ever-present accomplice Shaking Wind gave the Reverend enthusiastic and friendly smiles (respectively); Wufei Chang waved at the man before heading off to the tracks, and Raya Hinno gave him a pleasant smile as she passed him.

"Hey, Brother Winner! I don't usually see you out and about so early in the mornings! Is there some special reason for it?"

"No… I just felt compelled to come out a little earlier than usual, that's all." A pause.

"Oh. Well, I just came by to start work as usual. Oh, uh, Mayor Shields wanted you to go out to the train station and pick up a certain special guest. He got a telegram the other day that said something about a very important person who was going to be in the area, and he asked me to convince you to receive her."

"Oh. Well, I'm not going to be busy for another hour, so I guess I can do as he asks. It's strange, though, how Almighty God works sometimes."

"How's that?" she asked. Quatre smiled at hr knowingly.

"I had a dream last night, concerning the possible arrival of a 'suitable helper' for myself. This morning, when I woke up, I felt compelled to read about the creation of Adam and Eve, and lo and behold, the scriptures matched my dream almost perfectly. I wanted to leave my house a little early, probably just to see if my dream was real, and here you come with this announcement!"

"That is rather peculiar," noted Raya. "…Though it sounds more coincidental than spiritual. It's probably a politician's wife come to spread the campaign. It is coming to that time of year."

"All things are possible with God," admitted the Reverend. "Well, in any case, I'll accept Mayor Shields' request. I probably won't see you for… maybe another hour, all right? But you do a good job, okay?"

"I always do," she told him with a smile, and the Reverend smiled back at her before heading off towards the train station. _Yes,_ he thought, _this is probably just a coincidence. But Lord--and this is between us only--I pray that it's not. I would very much like the company of a young lady. I know I deserve nothing, but I would be forever grateful if this one blessing came to me. Thanks in advance._

With a soul-stirring squeal, the train came to a slow halt, and out of it stepped dozens of people, many of them merely going from one locomotive to the next. Only a select few emerged for the sole purpose of going to Serenity Valley, and Quatre had to wonder which of them was the woman he was supposed to meet. Mayor Shields had said that she would be easy to spot, but that didn't give Quatre a whole lot to go on. Suddenly, he realized what the Mayor had meant by "easy to spot" as a classy and sophisticated lady emerged from the train, wearing an aqua dress made solely for the rich and influential.

_That may be her,_ thought the Reverend to himself. _Mayor Shields said that she'd be easy to find, and this young lady is by far the most outstanding out of all the other people. Maybe I should go over to her and inquire, for safety's sake._ And so Quatre walked towards the young woman, hoping at least that she was the one he was looking for. He would have to put his emotional loneliness aside for the time being; he had a duty to perform.

"Good afternoon, Madame," said Quatre with a polite bow. The lady smiled and performed an elegant curtsy.

"Good afternoon, sir. Would you by any chance at all have the courtesy to direct me towards a town called Serenity Valley?"

"I have been blessed with good fortune!" exclaimed with Quatre. "It seems as if you really _are_ the woman I'm looking for! Mayor Shields sent me to look for you!"

"Oh, that's correct!" exclaimed the lady. "I do remember sending him a telegram requesting that one of the town's finest should meet me here, so I can assume that you are he?"

"I am merely a servant," said Quatre with a bow. The lady smiled anyway.

"Then, you must be a fine servant. Please, tell me who you are, so that I may better acquaint myself with the locals." Quatre politely led her by the hand as they both made their way out of the train station, and he had to admit that this lady was quite elegant with her aqua dress and pure-white parasol. Her hair was curled in a was that suggested she was high on the social and economic ladder, and therefore, important, and her gait was as regal as her speech.

"I am Reverend Quatre R. Winner, care of Serenity Valley Church of God."

"Ah, a minister!" smiled the lady. "So you are a servant of God!"

"Yes, milady. And who are you?"

"I am Earless Michelle King, care of Earl Reginald King in the service of her majesty Queen Victoria of England." _An Earless!_ exclaimed Quatre mentally. _She is indeed an important lady! Dear God almighty, I suppose this isn't the woman you had in mind! Hahahahaha! Wouldn't it be silly if it were? ……Well? …Wouldn't it?_

"I am most honored by your presence, Madame," said Quatre with another bow. "Please, consider me a servant of yourself along with God. If there is anything--"

"No, it's all right," said Michelle with a restrained giggle. "Please, Reverend, it is _I_ who should serve you. I am but the daughter of an Earl, whereas you are God's own mouthpiece."

"A title I am most unworthy of," muttered the priest.

"At least treat me the same as you would treat anyone else," she requested with a smile. Quatre's face flushed slightly as he offered her a weak chuckle.

"I apologize. I do sometimes contradict myself. Even priests are imperfect, milady. I honestly should treat you like just another one of my sisters in Christ."

"Oh, ah… I do not wish to dishearten you, Reverend, but I have not received baptismal by my own will," muttered Michelle shyly. "I was sprinkled with water as a young baby, as was the custom in the area, but I never really felt that close to… 'Him'."

"Oh?" Quatre, whose pace became slower and slower as his interest in Michelle grew, stopped completely so as to hold a proper conversation with the lady. "…Well, the belief in Christ _is_ one that you must make on your own. It is disheartening that you were put in that situation without much to say."

"It's all right," she assured him. "I just never really considered myself that close to God. You know how the English church can be sometimes."

"Regrettably no," he replied. "I've never been outside this country." Michelle gave the Reverend a faint smile, then decided to leave everything at that as she continued to follow the young man into town. Quatre personally held no real "feelings" towards the lady, except for that same sensation of compassion towards all men and women that priests usually had.

_God,_ he thought to himself, _if this woman is whom You were referring to in my dream, and I will not doubt Your wisdom if it is true, then please, Lord…… Give me a sign… Yes or no, Lord, I would like some kind of indication…_

"Is Serenity Valley populated well?" asked Michelle suddenly. This being anything but the sign he was looking for, Quatre concluded that she was _not_ "the" woman, sighed, and answered her.

"What do you mean?"

"Does it have good people in it?" A pause.

"For the most part. It does have its fair share of rogues, but what town doesn't?"

"True." Again, another long pause separated their conversation, and Quatre quietly whispered a few prayers out to God, most of them concerning Michelle and the dream he had had.

"Reverend?" Quatre shook out of his prayer to answer her.

"Yes?"

"……I know this may sound strange," murmured Michelle, "but…… in your opinion, do you think I might have a fair chance of meeting a nice young man in this town--one that I may have a chance at marrying?"

_WHAT???!_ Quatre's mental state went berserk as Michelle asked the surprising question, and the wry smile of a loving God came to his mind, almost as if to say "_A prayer answered in the future is still a prayer answered--or for the layman, I told you so!"_ Quatre's brain did a flip and a half as the now plainly-obvious "sign" came to him. _If that wasn't from God, then I'm a redhead!_ Still, Michelle's question could've been innocent, so Quatre continued to answer her.

"Well, um, I, uh… that is, uh… I would think a lady of your caliber would seek a gentleman in more… well, _elegant_ settings! Do you believe to find your life's mate in a dusty, hot town such as Serenity Valley?"

"Are not all things possible with God?" she slyly asked him. Quatre flinched and opened his mouth so wide that even Paul Bunyan's foot could've fit in there.

"…Okay, okay, that's true," he admitted. "But… well, I don't see why a nice young lady like yourself would want to look in a place like Serenity Valley!"

"I have my reasons," she countered. "Now, if you please, take me there at once. I am quite exhausted from my train ride and I would like to rest."

"…Oh. …Of course, ma'am. It's just this way."

One week passed.

In the seven days that went by, Quatre drew his usual crowd of questioning seekers and know-it-alls, and tried to clarify as much as he was able. He also announced, that very Sunday, that there would be a massive baptism held down by the nearest river, and that anyone who wanted to come was invited. Immersion in the water was a choice, of course, and since Quatre had already received many people who had made such a decision, he and the other priests decided to hold a massive baptism. Venus de Milo and Michelle were questioned about their attendance, and both promised to come as spectators, if nothing else.

The event was planned for three days into the future. Aside from people completing their vow of dedication to God, there would also be enough food to feed almost everyone in town, and even a few means of entertainment. It came not as a shock when Dewy Maxwell volunteered to direct the festivities; his friend Shaking Wind required a little more persuasion from his part.

"C'mon, it'll be fun!!" he told her. She gave him a classical frown and crossed her arms.

"I will not be welcomed there," she argued. Dewy merely snorted and waved at her.

"Pssh!! Mara, this is one of those religious get-togethers! They'll all accept you or else we've been in the company of hypocrites this whole time! Ya can't be a stick in the mud forever, so why don't'cha come along?" She gave him another doubtful glance, wherein he responded with an irresistible smile and sparkling eye.

"Please do not look at me like that," she grumbled. Dewy made a funny face.

"Bleah! You know you can't resist it!" Somehow, the tenacious young man was able to convince his friend to attend, so in fact there was nary a person left who completely refused--except for, of course, that one guy…

"No," he said plainly.

"Aw, c'mon, sug!" squealed Lita as she elbowed her kidnapper. "Shoot, y'all maht lahke it! An' who knows! The good Rev'rend maht even baptahze _you!_"

"I'm not interested," reiterated Heer Lita gave him her most irresistible and no-nonsense pout.

"Mmph! Yer no fun, darlin'! Awraht, ah won't force ya… But if you don't go, then nahther will ah!" Heero's inexpressive face grew just a little bit concerned as Lita swore to stay by his side, and the poor fellow finally agreed to her terms. Being alone with her and being in a crowd with her were two different evils, so he just chose the lesser of the two. Besides, who would hunt a criminal during a group baptism?

Seeing as how everyone either convinced or begged everyone else to attend, the entire town was transformed into a ghost village as literally everyone went to the baptisms. Reverend Winner, overjoyed that such a massive turnout had came, immersed himself in the water first and raised his hands to the sky.

"Hallelujah!" he cried. "O Lord Almighty, this is a day that I'm sure we'll never forget! Why, the attendance alone is worthy of boasting! But ah, Lord! It is not the numbers of people that satisfy You, but their love for You instead! Ah Lord, bless this day and bless these people who have come to the truth and embraced it! Amen, Lord, and in Your name we all pray, Amen and Amen again!"

"Amen," chimed everyone else, and quietly, those that had made their eternal decision stepped into the waters. Among those present were Marie-Maya Renada, Trowa Barton (who had been the man confessing to Quatre earlier), Duey Maxwell, and a host of people who ranged from former criminals to prostitutes, and from doctors to lawyers. Quatre immersed them all, or else his elder priests did, and most everyone received some kind of miniature blessing before they were immersed.

"This one cannot walk," said Quatre as he held Marie-Maya in his arms, "yet the Good Lord embraced the lame in His own day! Recall the beggars on the streets of Jerusalem, and how Lord Jesus healed them all! Though I may not have the ability to restore this young one, God may see to it that her legs become strong again!"

Or…

"The Lord delights in those who delight in the Lord," he said as he placed his arm on a beaming Dewy Maxwell. "Brother Dewy has not allowed anything to stand in the way of his joy for life, not even discrimination. His is an active spirit, so I may have to wrestle him a bit before he'll actually get in the water." Laughter.

Or…

"This young man has committed murder, robbery, and rape in his time, but the Good Lord declares that even he may find a place at the Lord's Table. Why, the thief on the cross next to Jesus was guaranteed a position in Paradise right before his death, and so shall this man receive mercy!" Smiles. Quatre always seemed to know just what to say, or whom to say it to. Meanwhile, in the crowd, an anxious Venus de Milo gently poked Lita in the back.

"What about you?" she whispered. Lita turned around and gave the dancer a smile suitable for a true Southern Belle.

"Oh, ah already got baptahzed when ah was just a lil' lady. Ah'm just here watchin'. What about you? Ah hear you've been readin' the good book for some tahme now."

"Yeah," mumbled Venus. "……I'm still reading, too. I… just need time, really. It all sounds nice, but I'd like to learn more."

"Don't make it an emotional thing," said Heero suddenly as he turned to face her. As always, his look was unreadable. "Whatever you do, don't dedicate yourself to this on the spur of emotion. I've seen people claim a connection with God, only to fall backwards a few years later. Think this through as much as you need to, and make sure you're absolutely certain. The best thing you can do is make a decision when you're not happy, but depressed instead."

"…Heero…" Lita smiled sweetly at the man's sudden wisdom, but Venus (as always) gave him a playful wink.

"I might never decide at that rate! Have any of you ever seen me depressed?"

"Can't say ah have," admitted Lita. Venus smiled again, but it was a more reserved one.

"Don't worry there, doll. I'll come around that mountain when I come. Just… let me have some time, all right."

"Shore thing, sug. Shore thing."

Michelle walked up to Quatre and engaged in a one-on-one conversation as soon as he had a free moment. When she had first met him, Michelle had seen him as little more than a nice young man with a good heart and a lot of dedication to his beliefs. But over the days she had spent, Michelle had really and truly did her best to acquaint herself with the young priest. She found out, sometimes through great difficulty, that he was in fact as much of a human as everyone else was. Reverend Winner was by no means a "holier-than-thou" sort of man--he was just a man, who erred and fell and didn't know many answers.

Of course he was kind and generous, and everything a true man of God should have been, and perhaps this was what intrigued Michelle so. She soon found herself dedicating most of her free time with Quatre, or else with the only other person who knew him best, Raya Hinno. Both of these young people offered her two similar perspectives on the same person and his ideals, though rarely were they identical. Raya was not nearly as honest as Quatre was concerning himself, but then again, she didn't know him like he knew himself.

Michelle woke up one day to find herself caring for the young priest very much. She had seen many other "holy men" on her path, but they were all either beyond her reasoning, or else they were hypocritical, or else too old for her, or else lukewarm. Quatre was _dedicated_, so much so that some people thought he spent too much time with his nose in the Bible (Quatre would then comment that it was a thought like that which fueled Satan best). Michelle had to disagree with these people, and as she was drawing closer to young Quatre, she also attended his sermons more and more.

And when he was not preaching……… she sat right next to him as a more experienced minister did.

Perhaps it was good, or perhaps it was bad, when Quatre admitted that he cared for Michelle as more than just a "fellow sister and human being". He was genuinely loving the time they spent together, and slowly shifted his schedule around so he could squeeze her in more. Of course, he still spent copious hours milling around town, or else in his study, or else in the chapel, but every free second he got was spent with the Earless. To his delight, she also confessed her joy whenever they spent time together, and slowly, Quatre was making his dream into a reality.

_Thank God,_ he smiled inwardly. A pause. _…You know, I just may. I just may._

But no amount of thanks could quite prepare him for what came next. Michelle received a telegram one day that informed her that her father would be arriving in America shortly, and would locate her as quickly as possible so that he could be there for her wedding. When she showed this to Quatre, he inquired about the marriage, and received an earful that disturbed him quite a bit.

"My father wants me to marry somebody rich or influential," she sighed. "Right now, I suppose there's no real reason why I have to do as he says, because we're already wealthy enough as it is. Don't get me wrong, Reverend--I do love my father, and I daren't go against his wishes. But…… maybe he has just not considered the fact that… Well, maybe I want to marry somebody of my _own_ choosing."

"That does not sound unreasonable," admitted he. "But Michelle, your father is much more experienced than you are. He knows what is really best for you."

"It isn't like I haven't been trying to find the right man," whispered Michelle King sadly. "I've been from Boston to Salt Lake City, and my travels got me this far with little more to show for it than a lot of traveling and some possibilities--but nothing that sparked my interest." She sighed again; poor Quatre couldn't really see the problem.

"…Well…… Who _would_ you like to spend the rest of your life with?"

"I'm not sure," she said with a defeated smile. She looked up into his face, stretched her smile, and chuckled. "…You, maybe?"

Poor Quatre's face turned very red very fast.

"_Me?_ Michelle, you want to--"

"I told you I don't know," she sighed again. "……But… well, if I really had to choose right this minute, then I'd go for you in a heartbeat." A pause. She gave him a one-way smile.

"…I am flattered, Michelle," admitted Quatre. "But this definitely isn't something that I can decide in a whim. I'd definitely need to get to know you better first. I mean, I'm talking about the woman that's going to spend the next fifty-some years with me… maybe even more!"

"You're right," she admitted with a sad smile. "…But I'm just _saying…_ Maybe, maybe, you could be my gentleman caller, or something along those lines."

"…Perhaps," he muttered, his face burning red. "I do admit that I _would_ like to start a serious relationship with you." (Now it was Michelle's turn to blush) "But… what about your father? I'm sure he could like me as a person, and maybe… if you weren't a member of the hierarchy, then he'd approve…"

"Father's not a very religious person," sighed Michelle sadly. "It's not like he disrespects the clergy--in fact, you're probably correct when you say that he'll like you--but as a longtime partner, he'll have nothing to do with you. I know him too well for him to say otherwise." The look on Quatre's face was enough to depress even Dewy Maxwell, and Michelle couldn't help but whisper out an apology.

"No, it's all right," sighed Quatre. "I really shouldn't involve myself with you any more than I should. I guess it was just my own human folly that caused me to--"

"Don't you say that, Quatre R. Winner!" spat Michelle. "I think I'm entitled to make my own decisions in life! I don't care if I'm 'just' a woman! I'll do as _I_ think what's best for _my_ life! I can't let anybody dictate my own destiny except for myself."

"…But…"

"And maybe God," whispered Michelle, giving Quatre a brief kiss on the cheek. She smiled at him, easing his depression just a fraction. "…Maybe God. He seems to know what's best for us all." Quatre sighed, shrugged, and gave Michelle a friendly hug.

"That's true… Hey, I don't want to, but I need to leave you for awhile. I'm sure that Marie-Maya, Dewy, and Trowa will want to have a talk with me, so could this conversation wait a little while longer?"

"Of course," she said with a smile. Quatre returned it, politely kissed her hand, and left Michelle to attend to his congregation. The beautiful young Earless didn't notice it at first, but the Reverend had subtly slipped a small piece of paper in Michelle's hand. Curious as to what it was, she opened it, and to her slight surprise, found that it was a Bible verse.

__

"Exodus 20:12"

And when Michelle King checked to see what the verse referred to, she shed a single, silent tear as she read the scripture. It was the Fifth Commandment.

__

"Honor thy father and thy mother."

"Father forgive me, for I have sinned…"


	6. Bridge Over Troubled Waters

**__**

Bridge Over Troubled Waters

She was the woman with three names. Her given Dakota name was Aimar-Ah-ten-oh, but most everyone living in Serenity Valley called her the Shaking Wind. The only other alias she went by was the one that the loveable Dewy Maxwell had given her: Amara Tina, though it was not one she approved of. The young man himself was a questionable type, and though no more dangerous than a lamb, his impish antics oftentimes caused trouble for the citizens. People likened him to that generation's Tom Sawyer--and with Shaking Wind acting as a kind of Huck Finn!

But while the fictitious Sawyer might have boasted about an "Injun" ancestry, Dewy's blood was genuinely mixed with the indigenous persons that still inhabited the land. His father was one of the many Protestant adventurers who had made it this far west, which was where he got the Christian names, but his mother was a full-blooded Native American. Most people would have found a bit of shame with such a cross-breed, but Dewy was anything but. The chocolate-haired youth was actually _proud_ of who he was.

Dewy soon found that half of his ancestry gave him quite a bit of blessings. While having a mother steeped in the native lore of the "new" world had its perks from time to time, Natives were still prejudiced in many parts of the country. Dewy got most of his looks from his father, however, so he could easily mingle in with the "pure" people of Serenity Valley. Unfortunately, as the chipper young man had a big mouth and was proud of his background, he had no secrets.

One of Dewy's most well-known things about him was his relationship with the woman only he called Amara Tina. _She_, unlike himself, was a full-blooded Native--a Dakota refugee, to be exact. Serenity Valley was one of the rare places that allowed Natives to mix and mingle in with their society, and since the place was so open-minded, many types and breeds of Natives had swarmed in. "Amara" was definitely not the only Dakota in there, although they weren't very common, either.

The two had met in the local trader's shop, which was where Dewy solicited _every single waking hour of every single day_--and this was no joke. With his parents "elsewhere" (as he claimed), Dewy seemingly had all the time in the world to waste away in the popular place, trading stories and knickknacks with all the other locals. He slowly began to smell like the aromatic trader's shop, and since he was among some of the most well-traveled and seasoned people in the area, he quickly gained knowledge that was never available in a classroom.

One day, Aimar-Ah-ten-oh meandered inside the trade shop, avoiding dust on the floor and the brief whistle from a rude patron. Because she was so accustomed to nature and the outdoors, and not a "civilized" shack such as this, she had gained a kind of ruggedness to her figure, one that was completely unheard of even among the hardiest of girls back east. Perhaps only Calamity Jane had such a rough-and-tumble aura about her, and although such hardiness was common in Aimar-Ah-ten-oh's tribe, women everywhere either clicked their tongues in repulsion, or at best, attempted civility.

But she and Dewy were perfect for each other.

"So, whaddya lookin' for?" asked the trade master, a middle-aged punk named Gordon. Shaking Wind grumbled and peered over his wares. Her English was limited to a handful of words (she knew French better), so most of her communication came out in gestures.

"Rawhide?" she asked. The trader shrugged.

"Nope, all out. You got anything to trade?" Shaking Wind silently hefted up several heavy bearskin blankets on the table, earning a raised eyebrow from the trader and Dewy, who of course was eavesdropping.

"…Too much," indicated Shaking Wind. "…Trade?"

"I'll say," grumbled Gordon as he ran his hands over the furs. "The winter frost is comin' fast, and these'll be in demand real quick. I can give you ten dollars each for them."

"Yes," said Shaking Wind. Dewy whistled a little rudely and tipped his straw hat.

"Whew! Didja kill them bars yerself, lady?" Shaking Wind turned her head around so she could give poor sweet Dewy a sour gaze, but he merely chuckled. "Hehehehehe! I betcha ya did! Heh! So whatcha gonna do with that money?" A pause. As annoying as he was right now, what with reeking of the shop and tobacco from a handmade cigarette, Shaking Wind had been raised to always answer a person's questions, no matter how stupid or irritating they were.

"Unsure," she admitted. Dewy grinned slyly, gnawing on a head of wheat as he gazed coolly at the Native.

"Well, you could buy yerself jes' bout' anythin' with that stuff! Heh, you want some beer, er maybe a few treats for yerself?"

"I _don't_ know," emphasized Shaking Wind again, the bitterness in her voice rivaling the friendly twang in Dewy's. "…Is it your… uhh… job to ask?"

"It just might be!" he chuckled lazily as he rested his hands behind his head. "Anyway, my maw n' paw always told me to introduce myself to pretty ladies, specially' if it looks like they can lick me good." He leaned forward, extending a hand that was definitely not sun-kissed, and smiled a slightly annoying smile. "Dewy Maxwell, esquire! And you??" Poor Aimar-Ah-ten-oh sighed and rolled her eyes at the annoying lad, and cursed her polite manners a thousand times as she grasped his paw.

"Aimar-Ah-ten-oh." Dewy smiled and pumped the hand, and even had the gentlemanly audacity to kiss it.

"That's actually a pretty name--butcha need somethin' easier to say! How bout'… I give you a new name?"

"Hm?"

"Yeah, uh… Aimar! How about 'Amara' instead of Aimar-Ah, and… uh… 'Tina' instead of ten-oh? Yeah, hey! That's it! Amara Tina! Doesn't that sound pretty?!" The playful Dewy smiled as bright as the sun he rarely saw, and poor Aimar-Ah-ten-oh tried not to look too irritated. She _did_ have to admit that it was a little prettier than her given name, though she was hardly the type to go for pretty things.

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Not worse than Dewy."

"…Hey!!" Aimar--or "Amara" as Dewy was now calling her--actually let out a rare laugh as the poor roughneck glared at her, but his anger quickly faded and returned to the mischievous yet harmless young man that he usually was. After that day, one of the oddest, if not nicest relationships blossomed, though it was plain to see that it would never go to romance. Dewy was just too irresponsible and carefree to be a lover, whereas Amara had concerns of her own. The two were great friends, however, and just like their Mark Twain-made "counterparts", they would often get into strange adventures and would almost always end up in some kind of trouble.

One example of this was when the two of them explored a cave together, only to come out sprayed with some type of humor and sending a flock of bats towards the town in a screeching frenzy. Or, there was also the time they scammed a few youngsters into paying them money to look at an early flush toilet that had recently been installed in Mr. Renada's house.

"This is it!" pointed Dewy. "No more smelly outhouses! No more having to sneak outside just to go to the bathroom! Now, all your 'business' needs can be taken care of in the comfort of your own home, and without the stench as well!!" Of course, all the kids came to see this new marvel, wherein they were all charged a penny apiece. Dewy and Amara were almost caught by the schoolmarm Trista as she was coming home, but thankfully, they had the speed to escape her biting words.

Dewy and Amara bonded pretty close as friends, and acted more like siblings than anything else. Amara, however, didn't usually smile that often, and her laughter was even more rare. It was true that some Native Americans were the quiet and somber type, but Dewy was quite the clown, so he _should have_ been able to make his buddy grin.

He soon learned why Amara was usually in such a serious mood. One lazy day, when Dewy was taking a rare rest outdoors, he asked his friend why she rarely allowed any happiness to show. He asked her in her native language (which he knew quite well, since his mother had been a Dakota as well), so as to make the conversation go easier, and what he got back in return was the last thing he expected to hear.

"[…If you must know…"

"[I must!]" insisted Dewy in the Dakota language. "[I must! Please enlighten me!]" Amara took a deep sigh, ruffled her short hair, and gazed at her friend with empty eyes.

"[…You know how badly the Dakota have been treated, right?]"

"[Do I ever…]" snorted Dewy. Amara nodded her head.

"[It's not just been my people,]" she continued, "[it's been every single native person to this land, even our enemies. It's almost as if discrimination knows no prejudice, if that makes any sense.]"

"[Yeah, I hear ya,]" mumbled Dewy. "[The Dakotas--heck, _everybody's_ being treated like they're worse than animals, even though there isn't any difference between us…]"

"[You really think that?]" asked Amara as she sat up. Dewy nodded his head.

"[Well, yeah. We were all made by the same guy. I mean, everyone's got a different name for him, but…… we're all human on the inside. Heh, I should know this better than anyone!!]" A pause.

"[Yeah…]" Amara lowered her head to the ground, and aimlessly began digging into the ground with a Bowie knife. Something was passing through her mind just then, something she wouldn't reveal even to Dewy, but the brown-haired youth decided to change this little problem and prodded further into the psyche of his friend.

"[…You don't look so well,]" he said--which was probably an unnecessary understatement. "[Come on, what else is bothering you? I know it hurts to think of your own people being mistreated--]"

"[I want to fight this oppression, Dewy!!]" barked Amara suddenly. Dewy's interest grew as his closest friend turned emotional. "[I don't want to see anyone suffering, especially not the very tribe I was born into! I want to do something! I, I want to fight for their freedom, like the Northerners did for the slaves in the war. I don't want to just sit around here doing nothing!!]"

"Hey, I--whoops!" Correcting himself, Dewy slipped back into Dakota tongue in a second. "[Sorry. Anyway, I know how you feel, and if I could, I'd fight with you too! But, who would you fight? And who would you go to for help?]" A pause. Amara groaned softly and covered her perspiring face with her hand.

"[…I don't know,]" she muttered. "[I honestly don't know. I… I……… M-maybe I'm just talking to the wind. You're right; what _can_ I do? I'm just one worthless woman, living in a world that looks down on my people and even my gender--two things that I could not prevent being born into! Dewy, do you think it's fair to say that a person isn't 'good enough' if they're born with something they had no way of preventing?!]" Amara's biting words, bitter and harsh and sawing into the marrow of Dewy's bone, hit awfully close to home with the half-Protestant, half-Dakota young man. He sighed and briefly removed the straw hat on his hands, and tucked his thumbs under the straps of his overalls like a true country boy would do. Some would label him a farmer, what with that head of wheat in his mouth, but in fact Dewy was just an average rough-and-tumble boy who loved adventuring and spinning fancy yarns.

"…Naw, it ain't fair at all!" exclaimed Dewy in his "native" language. "In fact, I think it's a downright shame! Huh! I'll betcha that the Chinese, the Irish, and the Negroes feel the same way that you do! Ha! We should form a little organization!!" Amara gave Dewy a gentle but emotionless look that gave him the impression she was grateful for his support, but an idea struck Dewy's mind that outweighed any scheme he had ever done before in the past.

"…By George!!" he spat suddenly. "Ah! AH! That's it! Hey, Amara Tina, I just got one humdinger of an idea!!"

"What's a 'humdinger'?" asked a confused Dakota. Dewy gave her his usual boyish wink.

"I'll tellya later. But, hey! I can actually be a genius sometimes! Of course! Why didn't I think of it in the first place?!"

"Think of what?" asked Amara. Dewy scooted over to where his buddy was and placed his arm across her shoulders.

"We should form a diversity club, for real!!" he squealed. "You, me, Renee, Hotaru, Apollo, Wufei, that Millard guy, and anyone else that feels like they ain't bein' treated well! HA!! Why didn't I think of it before!!!?" Amara politely shrugged for the sake of giving him feedback, but even she had to admit that it was a plumb good idea. She gave him a sweet smile, one of her rare ones, and fluffed his long hair roughly.

"Not a bad idea," she said. "Okay, let us do it! We should bring all people together and work as one. When did you…… uhh… plan on doing this?" Dewy only gave it a second's worth of thought before answering.

"Probably in a few days, when the Harvest Moon Festival begins. I'll make the announcement then, and maybe we'll get other people to join in our crusade as well!"

"…Crusade?" Dewy smiled and tapped his friend's nose playfully.

"A holy campaign--erm, kind of like a war. Yeah, that's it! We'll wage war on discrimination! It's not fair that we should be looked down upon just because we're different!! Right?"

"Correct," said Amara with a smile. Dewy grinned and leaned forward to give her a playful kiss on her temple, and was subsequently shoved backwards in return. He laughed out loud at her sour pout, and gave her a friendly yet powerful slap on the shoulders.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Golly, calm down, Amara! I'm not serious! Hehehehehe!!" His reassurances failed, and the solemn Dakota woman crossed her arms defensively.

"…Immature," she pointed. Dewy grinned salaciously.

"Aw, c'mon, you know I love ya--just not in a real romantic way!!" Amara, for all her worries, cares, and troubles, could not prevent the warm smile that came from her.

"…Yes… I… think I love you too, in that sense."

"Humph!" snorted Dewy. "Don't expect me to kiss you anywhere else, though." Amara nodded her head in agreement, and the two shook hands to seal their previous pact. The Harvest Moon Festival was indeed drawing nearer, and the sooner more people learned about the duo's quest, the better their chances were.

In the future, people like Amara and Dewy would be called "abolitionists", and they would change the face of history forever.

Closing comments: I deeply apologize for the extreme lack of updates for this story. I admit that I haven't been feeling very excited about writing for this story, despite the fact that it was a fan fiction challenge, and I've been mostly uninspired for some time. Also, I've been busying myself with other works--but most of the delay came from my own laziness and a few new video games I got, mainly Valkyrie Profile. Expect to see a few stories centering around this wonderful yet somewhat neglected game! Until then, I apologize yet again, and I promise that the next chapter won't take quite so long. Regards, all.


	7. Hard Time Killing

**__**

Hard Time Killing

Trowa Barton only sat with one other person as he strung his guitar. The tune he played was a mournful and depressing one, a song that would fully express just how down he really felt. The weather was hot and dry, like the fires of Hell, and if one were not careful, they would have been led to insanity in this nearly-desolate wasteland that was ironically named Serenity Valley. Yet the heat was not the source of Trowa's rampant depression, nor even was the song he was playing. That was merely an extension of his feelings; what he felt was the blues, pure and simple.

Trowa Barton, put simply, was just another Civil War veteran who had came into the peaceful world realizing that there was no place for a soldier such as himself. Barely nineteen, he had enlisted late in the army and in fact was only in a handful of battles before Lee surrendered. Trowa had been part of the Union back then, so it was not as if he had the "South will rise again" syndrome; he was just plum out of luck.

Finding honest work in a town such as Serenity Valley was easy--that is, if you weren't a soldier. Men who had been in the army were either rotting away from lack of war, or else they had already retired or were living prosperously, or else they were like Trowa, and down on their fortune. The young stoical man had few things going for him, except his musical talent, so the only thing he could really do was sit by the dusty streets and play his cares away. His means of living came from Reverend Winner, but other than that, he was stuck in a slough.

The only other person with him was extremely similar to him, in that she too was a victim of poor fortune. The name of the young lady listening to Trowa's son was Raya Hinno, daughter of a poor coal-miner. Out of all occupations available, coal-mining was perhaps one of the most dangerous and least profitable, but Raya's father didn't have a choice. Unlike Trowa, the senior Hinno had a family to take care of, and so had to go to the mines every day or else lose his job and his income. Raya's own depression over being so poverty-stricken was similar to Trowa's, so the two got along very well.

Raya and Trowa were the lights to each other's own dark worlds. The young man, who was a master at the guitar, would often play a soulful tune to Raya as she worked, or whenever the girl was on a break. Trowa had near-boundless talent when it came to his instrument, probably rivaling Quatre's skills with the banjo or even Ms. Michelle King's violin abilities. A few people even paid him to pay or to give lessons, but other than these rare charities, he was literally dirt poor.

Raya, who could easily feel Trowa's pain, was constantly at his side (which was how he had met Reverend Winner, since Raya worked part-time at the church house). The dark-haired lady sometimes even joined him for a duet, though her guitar skills were not quite as good. The two of them really were a wonderful pairing, and despite the bad hand they had been dealt, they always managed to brighten up each other's lives.

Once Trowa finished with his song, he looked at Raya and managed a smile. She gave him her prettiest, and complimented him on such a stirring song.

"It's really too bad that you can't be a musician professionally," she said. "You'd be one of the best. I know they'd probably be all over you back in New York or Boston."

"Perhaps," he replied. "I have never really given it any consideration, though. Perhaps I _should_ move elsewhere, but I would not know where."

"Well, I dunno if I'd really like that," she whispered. "Being that far away from you would be tough."

"Agreed," he replied. "We are both strong people, but we are much stronger with each other. I would not like to give up a relationship such as ours so easily. But, then again, perhaps a relocation would be the only way for me to go anywhere in life. Serenity Valley does not have that much to offer me."

"Tell me about it," sighed Raya. "Being born a woman in this town might be better than most others, but it's still hard to get anywhere, especially if you're the daughter of a coal miner. At least I haven't been sold to some plantation owner, like the Negroes. Hey, don't you think that your situation is the same as theirs?" A pause. Trowa began to silently string his guitar, a habit he had formed that suggested he was in deep thought.

"Perhaps," he replied. "If you are saying that neither they nor myself have anywhere to go to after such a terrible war, then you may be correct. But, at least I have a better chance at getting a job than they would. Discrimination still runs rampant in this country, even in this very town."

"Tell me about it," sighed Raya wearily. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to make sense out of the senseless, but came up with nothing save for the empty answers she always discovered. Suddenly, the courthouse clock chimed twelve times, signifying that the hour was noon.

"Well, that's my cue to leave," sighed Raya, indicating the clock's gong. "Reverend Winner still has lots for me to do. I'd ask him if you could work for him as well, but I really don't think he needs anyone else. I'll try, though."

"Any effort on your part will always be appreciated," replied Trowa, who was still absently stringing his guitar. Raya smiled weakly and gave him a peck on the cheek before leaving. It was a little-known fact that the more poverty-stricken a person was, the more it seemed they had to give. Rich people like Trey Renada and Michelle King were nice in their own right, but it was oftentimes the physically disabled (such as Marie-Maya) or the economically poor (such as Raya and Trowa) who oftentimes brightened up the town.

Though she had little to hope for, Raya's kind smile was perhaps more beautiful than the most expensive dresses that Ms. King could buy, or the fanciest watch that Mr. Renada could own. Her body, though worn and rough due to long hours of work, was more beautiful than the soft skin of Mrs. Renada, or the gentle face of Reverend Winner. There was a powerful purity in one so lacking, and this was but one quality which attracted her to Trowa.

Trowa knew well enough that both Raya and himself deserved better than what they had. She had powers of the heart, and a definite fire behind those mysterious violet eyes; he was skilled with music, and perhaps more, yet it seemed as if they were both doomed forever to be in a pit of depression. It was a hard time for the both of them, and though things never did seem to improve, in a way, it was almost comforting to be in such a position. Sure, Trowa got hungry all the time, and he oftentimes slept outside, but perhaps this lack of work gave him something that very few people had.

Trowa Barton was rich in _freedom_.

"But what good is freedom if you can't even use it?" he asked himself. Smiling emptily, he almost let out a chuckle as he finished stringing his guitar. If Trowa ever had a reason to hope, he had long ago forgotten why. The young ex-soldier was just simply used to playing his songs, hoping for charity, and dining on what was left over from Reverend Winner's meals. If he ever did experience a change, he would probably not know how to handle it.

However, out of his misery and depression, two shining beacons of light stood out, and one of them was Raya. The financially-poor girl was a genuine gift from God, and Trowa swore that the second he could afford it, he would marry the warm-hearted girl (he _swore_ it, by God!). His second reason for hoping was a much more temporary thing, the annual Harvest Moon Festival. Held every year around the middle of Autumn, when the Harvest Moon was at its fullest, the festival was an incredibly joyful and happy time for all, when even the bandits were forgiven their crimes.

Since the festival was going to be a memorable event, there was a call for musicians and singers that spread as far as the town borders. Reverend Winner had already volunteered his voice and his banjo for the event, and of course, Dewy Maxwell was loaning his twanging country voice. The smallest ghosts of rumors said that Michelle King would be donating her violin (which, in a village like Serenity Valley, was called a "fiddle"), and every mother's son _knew_ that Venus de Milo would be there dancing.

Trowa Barton, with his inimitable skills at the guitar, would definitely be there, most likely with Raya as his backup stringer. Aside from the fact that his absence would leave a large hole in the entertainment, if Trowa had indeed signed up, then he was guaranteed to be paid an impressive $20 by Mayor Shields himself. The Festival was _that_ important to the honorable man, so who was Trowa to decline such a generous offer?

Late that night, underneath the nearly-completed moon, Trowa Barton gently strummed a melodic tune on his guitar. If any citizen of Serenity Valley was awake enough to listen, they would certainly have no complaints about the song. This was not a noise, but a melody, the kind that would sooth even the tightest of nerves. Playing with him was a dark-haired young lady, shivering slightly from the cold. If she hoped to stay warm, she would have to sit very close to Trowa, but for her, this was no problem at all.

Closing comments: Urk, short chapter, but I completely ran out of things for this couple to do (blame Myst Lady for any pairing that doesn't make sense. This was her idea, not mine, hehe *dodges the Responsibility Bullet*). There's only one more pairing after this, and then the aforementioned Harvest Moon Festival will begin. Problems will be resolved and everybody will live happily ever after…… NOT!!! Surely you all know me better than that. Besides, real life doesn't work that way. One single festival won't make everything all right in the world, especially not in this conflicting town, so beware.


	8. Loneliness and Desperation

**__**

Loneliness and Desperation

The Western wild could be an unforgiving place, especially if you were different from everyone else. Even in a place like Serenity Valley, which embraced the different cultures of the world on the surface, one could still find many people discriminating anything which did not have an Anglo-Saxon or Protestant background. This included literally everyone except for a small "majority" of the population, and Wufei Chang found himself to be a part of the outsiders.

Like many Chinese at the time, Wufei had traveled from his native country to America, seeking out the freedoms that the new world had to offer. Indeed, there was lots of opportunity there, and he did indeed find a means to support himself by working on a railroad, but he still felt like he was going nowhere fast. On the surface, America was a land of gold and promises, but once he arrived…

Almost everyone that worked on that never-ending stretch of railroad was either Chinese, a Negro, or else grossly unemployed. Wufei had to work terribly long hours, under a terribly hot sun that always glared down at him, and he had to wield a terribly heavy sledgehammer again and again with almost no rest. His pay, a currency very unfamiliar to him, was small and definitely not worth the trouble he was going through, and security on the job was nonexistent, as it seemed like not even a week could pass without somebody getting hurt or killed.

The blasting heat of the sun made many men delirious, and the endless miles in which the future iron horse would claim seemed to never end. Some would say that was good--there would always be a job in this case. Personally, Wufei prayed that the railroad would be completed in the next hour. He hated working there more than anyone he knew, but unlike those same Chinese that toiled so endlessly and mindlessly, Wufei had a reason to hope.

Unlike many of his brethren, Wufei was perfectly fluent in the English language. Having picked it up from wandering missionaries, Wufei considered his bilingual skills a plus when he made the move to the States. And sure enough, as soon as he got hired, Wufei was put in a place where he could communicate best with his supervisors and coworkers. But… it still felt like he was nothing more than a slave, working endlessly under the most extreme of conditions, and being paid so little that it wasn't even worth keeping.

In fact, there was but one thing in America that kept Wufei going. If he had found even this lacking, he would have packed his bags long ago and would probably have headed east, towards New England. But no, only one thing kept him in Serenity; only one thing was worth all this misery and trouble, only one thing really was warm in this scorching-hot wasteland.

During his stay in America, Wufei had become acquainted with a young lady of great beauty and greater intelligence, one as gentle as the rain and as calm as a bubbling brook--yet with the strength and caution of a glacier. She was Amy Anderson, a rabid pupil of reason and thought, and though she had the brilliance of three people, the love in her life was almost completely dim. Amy, like most every naturalized citizen of Serenity Valley, knew pretty much everyone in the town, especially the schoolmarm Trista Renada and the sweet southern belle Lita Keene.

Wufei had been drawn to Amy in a way that was largely unfamiliar to him. Back in his home country, there really had been no woman worth talking about, mostly because the only ones he knew were either too old, too young, whorish in disposition, or else treated poorly. In Serenity, there were too women who were old and young, and the prostitutes and the pure, and the despised and the admired. But Amy, like Wufei, was _different_ from her fellow woman, just as he was from his fellow Chinese.

Amy Anderson was one of the few ladies in Serenity, or maybe even the world, who violently studied the great minds of the world, such as Locke, Edison, Pasteur, Newton, Wollstonecraft, Rousseau, Voltaire, and Jefferson. Her mind was constantly poring over their philosophies and ideas, and would oftentimes apply such thought to her own life. Usually, women were not expected to spend such vast amounts of their time in books. Their place was in the house, or at the very least, the sewing guild.

Perhaps this was the reason why Miss Anderson was so poor in her lovelife. Though stretching towards twenty years old, many people already had the gall to dub her an "old maid". Initially, she didn't care a whit about what others said, especially since she knew her studying would pay off someday, but as the years rolled on and the insults continued to heap, Amy sadly began to listen to them more and more.

Just as Wufei was a step beyond his countrymen because of his knowledge of the new world, so too was Amy different from other women due to her knowledge of new thought. Science, economy, mathematics, biology, politics, philosophy, Amy soaked it all up like a sponge and always seemed thirsty enough to want more. Wufei, on the other hand, desperately wished to be in a place where his own skills were appreciated, and not just having to mill around endlessly on the railroad.

Such was fate.

But personally, neither one of the two believed in such concepts.

One day, Wufei decided to pay Amy a visit. Knowing very little of being "nervous around women", or the bravery it took for some men to admit their feelings, the outstanding foreigner walked into the library where he knew Amy would be, and scouted the area for the girl. He found the petite lady relaxing in a distant corner of the library, a small pile of books blanketing her from the outside world. In her current possession was Galileo's Dialogues, a book that applauded, supported, and detailed Copernicus' heliocentric theory.

Wufei smiled a little as he saw the young lady read. Most women would find Galileo far beyond their mortal comprehension; some men would claim the same. Only "brilliant" or "sophisticated" people (like Michelle King or Trey Renada) ever bothered to pick up such sciences, and this alone set Amy apart from most other women. Wufei, however, liked the fact that this young girl was so different. No matter how horrible things were outside of this sanctum, Amy could always go back to the books, and enlighten herself on them. Clearing his throat, Wufei took off his straw hat and bowed his head. As usual, his English was perfect, probably better than most of the naturalized citizens of America.

"Good afternoon, Miss Anderson," he began. Amy looked up from her book and adjusted her spectacles so she could see him better. Having come from a country that helped invent eyeglasses, Wufei could fully appreciate their use, and how debonair they made other people look. On Amy, they made her look intellectual and cute at the same time.

"Oh, hello Wufei!" she replied. "Do you need me for something?"

"I just came by to talk with you, that's all," he indicated. Amy slowly nodded her head and closed the book she had been reading.

"To… talk to me?"

"Yes. Do you not wish to have me as company?"

"N-no, no… I mean yes… I mean…!" Amy smiled meekly, rubbed the side of her head, and tried again. "…What I mean is, I would like to have your company, Mr. Chang."

"Just call me Wufei," he said as he approached her (poor guy had to wash himself mightily before he came. Working outside all day certainly made one reek). "May I sit down?" Amy smiled that same meek smile of hers as she realized their current situation. The large upholstered chair she had burrowed herself into was gigantic for her smallish body, but with Wufei squeezed in there, they would hardly have any room at all.

"I think we should find a table first," she suggested. Wufei agreed and helped Amy out of the large chair. If anything, Wufei knew his manners precisely.

"So why exactly did you come to me for?" asked Amy. Wufei, who was not one for smiling even in the presence of this lovely young lady, sat down with a businesslike face and made a simple hand gesture.

"I have been noticing you for quite some time, Amy," he began. "I see that you appreciate a good book. I must also note that this is not a normal thing for a woman to do, especially one your age. Tell me--for I'm very curious--why is it that so many women in this town obsess over a husband, while you do not?" Amy kept silent for quite some time, unsure as how she should approach Wufei's inquiry. What he said was true, but whether or not it was really his business was another thing.

"I… don't think it concerns you," she replied. Wufei nodded his head.

"I understand that. But I couldn't help but notice your, erm, habits. They are definitely not the same as other women in this town, that's for sure. I just want to know what motivates you to be different."

"What… motivates me to be different?" she parroted. "What do you mean?" Leaning back in his chair a little, Wufei made another gesture and pointed to himself.

"Take me for example," he said. "The thing that motivated me to be a level beyond my own people was the basic promise we all grew up listening to: that America really was the land of the free and the home of the brave, and that a man could find peace and prosperity in such a place. You could say, the American Dream promotes me to constantly improve myself--not just in speech, but in manner as well. I do not intend to be 'just another Chinaman' forever." Another silence came out of Amy's mouth. She usually paused only to contemplate her next response, but now, she was slightly speechless.

"…I think I see what you mean," she replied. "You want to be different so you can be _better_."

"Yes, exactly," agreed Wufei. "Is it not the same for you?"

"…Yes, I… think so," she replied slowly. "That is, I…… I believe that I can make a difference in my life. …It is true that I would like to be married, and have children, and all the other 'common' feminine goals, but… I also want to have _influence_ in this life as well. I don't wish to be content; I want to always yearn for more. I always want to improve myself--or, should I say, I just don't want to comply to the demands stressed on women these days."

"Hence the Wollstonecraft," indicated Wufei. Amy turned her head slightly and noticed that Mary Wollstonecraft's Vindication of the Rights of Women was part of the small pile of books that had been scattered around her chair. The petite young lady blushed just barely and turned to give Wufei a sheepish smile.

"It's… just a fancy of mine," she explained. Wufei shrugged at her feeble attempt at humility.

"Maybe. But don't you think that the creed 'All men are created equal' applies to both foreigners _and_ women?" Another silent pause.

"…Well…"

"I came to this country with that very thought in mind," said Wufei. "And I believed that I would be treated just the same as anyone else. But even now, the so-called social structure determines that male Protestants of Anglo-Saxon descent are to be on the top of the list, whereas the true Natives of this country, and Irish and Italian and Chinese, and especially the Negroes, are to be somewhere close to the bottom. Even you women are treated better than us."

"I think I understand what your point is," said Amy thoughtfully. "I don't want to point it out right away, but I think we're both on the same thought. You and I are both suffering from one kind of prejudice or another, and I suppose that in our quests to be different from everybody else, we've also succeeded in isolating ourselves even more." A sigh.

"It's quite strange, really…"

"But, I have read books that say that it is our differences which make us special," said Wufei, taking Amy's hand gently. The young woman smiled feebly at his attempt and thanked him for whatever comfort he could give.

"You're nice," she said softly. "You know, I suppose that it really is wrong to judge a person before you get to know them. Come to think of it, people like Dewy Maxwell and that friend of his, and Marie-Maya's friends are probably more interesting than the 'natural' residents of this town. And some of the wisest and warmest people I know have a different belief or language or skin color."

"And many people may not realize that sometimes, _we_ do the judging as well," added Wufei wryly. "I do not mean Chinese people alone; I mean everyone. I have spoken with many of the people in this town, and most of them confess to assuming the worst of a certain race of person. But, after getting to know them, or at least _you_, I can already say how baseless many of these accusations are." Amy smiled warmly and even blushed a little as Wufei told her this, though she tried not to.

"…I have to warn you, Wufei," she said softly, "many people may not think well of me if they see me speaking with you like this."

"I would assume so," he shrugged. "But Amy, do they treat you so wonderfully right now?" Amy smiled happily.

"No, I can't say they do."

"Then why does it bother you so?"

"It doesn't, really," she replied. "I was just talking. You know, Wufei, there aren't that many people in this town that ever really get to know me. I guess, since you're putting all this attention on me, I'm speaking more than I should."

"It's all right," he shrugged. "Not many people see me as an intelligent human being. To them, I'm just a mindless worker, a 'Chink' I think the term is. Such a tragedy that there are those who cannot see past their own face." Amy smiled and nodded in agreement.

"And yet, such a joy that there exist those who can." The two of them smiled at each other, and Wufei's face became slightly flushed as he realized he was still holding Amy's hand. He apologized and released the grip, but Amy didn't seem to mind.

"It's definitely welcome whenever you feel like it," she told him. Wufei gave her a smile, the poor girl's face turned slightly red, and there would have been a scene if the two had not been rudely interrupted by a hyperactive Dewy Maxwell.

"Hey guys!!!" he shouted as he burst into the library. As usual, his buddy was being dragged along for the ride, and she didn't look near as happy as he. Suddenly, Dewy spotted just how "close" Amy and Wufei had been, and smiled knowingly at the scene.

"…Whoa! Am I, erm, interrupting anything?!"

"Dewy, you're such a rapscallion!" chuckled Amy. Poor Dewy scratched his head in confusion.

"Huh? What the heck's that s'pposed to mean?"

"Only smart people like Amy would know that," pointed Wufei, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Dewy, however, managed to find offense in it.

"…HEY! What're ya sayin', Chang? That I ain't smart?"

"Possible," shrugged Shaking Wind. Dewy glared at her as if she had just bragged about beating him in a wrestling match.

"YOU stay outta this!" he spat. Shaking Wind gave her friend a slick smile, and chose for his sake to remain silent. Turning around, Dewy resumed speaking to the other couple in the room. "Anyway! I gotta ask the two of you a favor!"

"What is it, Dewy?" said Amy, a laugh still in her voice. Dewy winked at the lady and tipped his straw hat.

"It ain't nothin' hard or anythin' like that. I just need'ya for somethin'. Hey, Chang, you wanna be part of an ever-growing diversity group?"

"What's that?"

"Just some club that accepts people deemed 'different' by others. Me'n Mara here are already part'a the group, and we're thinkin' of gettin' those three foreign kids in as well. You want in?" Wufei gave Dewy an extremely flat look, yet for all the boy's zest, Wufei actually considered the offer.

"I might wish to join," said Amy. Dewy gave her a puzzled look.

"Eh? Hey, ain't your family English? How diverse is that?"

"Fool," muttered Amara, jabbing him in the side. "Amy's not like the others. Don't you know that?"

"Oh, sorry," muttered Dewy darkly. He saved himself with a sheepish smile, and since he "suddenly" remembered how extraordinary Amy was, he accepted her nomination. Wufei let out a sigh, sensing that three pairs of eager eyes were boring into his body, and muttered out his own nomination.

"Cool!" exclaimed Dewy. "By the great horn spoon, we're gettin' to be a big group! Well, me'n the lady here are gonna go look for others! You two can do whatever, but make sure you meet us come time for the Harvest Moon Festival! _That's_ when our little society's gonna make a stand!"

"We understand!" smiled Amy. "Oh but Dewy? Don't expect me to sing there! You know I can't!"

"Yeah, I know. Chang's gonna do it, aren't ya buddy?" All eyes suddenly turned towards Wufei, and even Amara looked slightly surprised at the sudden revelation. Wufei simply nodded his head, earning a thumbs-up from Dewy as the sprightly kid left the library. Amy, who had no idea about Wufei's involvement with the festival, gave him a surprised look.

"…I didn't know you could sing, Wufei!" she exclaimed. A slight glint of mischief flickered in Wufei's eyes.

"I can't," he said. "But Dewy doesn't need to know that."


	9. Come Together Right Now

Emergency disclaimer: The song "Man of Constant Sorrow" belongs to Dan Tyminski and the Soggy Bottom Boys. I just liked it, that's all. And now, the "conclusion". I put quote marks around that word because… well… is there ever a conclusion to real-life dramas?

****

Come Together Right Now

On the night of the Harvest Moon Festival, all of Serenity Valley was decked up with decorations, posters, streamers, and props, with musicians getting in some last-minute practice sessions before the big event. The Festival would be something like a local county fair, with rides and attractions and of course, a good old-fashioned hoedown. Everybody who was anybody would be there, no matter how "classy" or "sophisticated" they were on normal days.

A great concert stage had been erected for the use of the volunteer musicians, and since the main event would not be playing for awhile, those who had signed up were gathered there practicing. Trowa Barton sat silently in a corner, stringing his guitar and humming a few tunes here and there; Reverend Winner was fiddling with his violin (no pun intended), and Wufei was strumming a few unconnected tunes on a banjo he had borrowed for the event. Venus de Milo was lying on her back, staring at the star-filled sky with sparkles in her eyes, and Raya Hinno was quietly singing a few bars that were roughly in tune with Trowa's strumming.

Dewy Maxwell, who seemed to be the leader of the whole crew, was guzzling down a bit of ale as he tried his singing voice out. To his disappointment, Shaking Wind had… politely declined a position on the stage. He also regretted the absence of Michelle King, who could play a violin even better than the good Reverend (or so he claimed). Mr. Maxwell was a bit more concerned about the arrival of the lady's father, who had sent a letter stating his arrival that very day. He knew of the growing relationship between the Earless and the good Reverend, and though he personally liked the pair, he knew that the Earl might not share such an interest.

Millard O'Craft was the only person sitting on stage that was not part of the large band, but his reason was to be close to Venus ("Aww, how sweet!" mocked Dewy. He received an extremely bitter glare from the older man). He was holding a hushed conversation with the gorgeous dancer, something that very few other people could really boast about. From what little Dewy could gather from the dancer, she was in fact a very ordinary girl with very ordinary tastes. She just… had a talent, that's all.

"B-S!" he exclaimed. "Huh! That girl twirls better'n a tornado! Don't be so modest!" Venus smiled faintly at his "defending" words, but assured him that she was no more human than anyone else there. It was Quatre, she said, who was special, but he too argued the opposite.

"All men and women were created in God's image," he stated, "so not a one of us can boast for greatness, unless they have been truly preordained by the Almighty." Raya agreed.

"So, what you're saying is that Trowa and I are just the same as someone like Mr. Renada, or Miss King?"

"Precisely," replied Quatre. "Your economic status may be different, but God Almighty, in all His greatness, sees you as equals." Raya smiled at the Reverend's words, and hugged her knees close to her chest as she looked up at the night sky. Trowa's strumming was becoming more and more mournful and moody, but once Wufei began to seriously play his banjo, the guitar grew happy along with it. After all, it was almost impossible to play a depressing tune on a banjo.

The small group of performers sat there performing, talking, or stargazing, waiting for the time where they could show the citizens of Serenity Valley their stuff. It was going to be an awfully big event, that concert, so they wanted to get things right. Dewy insisted that they just go out there and have fun, and not obsess so much over practicing, and several people agreed with him.

Meanwhile…

Suppressing a yawn, Trey Cush Renada glanced at his Swiss gold watch under the light of a candle and nodded his head. Shutting the object, he turned around and called his family outside, saying that it was about time they left for the festival. Trista came outside pushing her stepdaughter, who smiled and waved happily at her three young friends. Hotaru, Renee, and Apollo greeted her back, and let Trista's arms rest while they guided Marie-Maya to the fair themselves. The tall, dark-haired woman quietly joined her husband and gave him one of her enigmatic smiles.

"…Yes?" he said.

"It's nothing. I'm just… smiling, that's all." A pause.

"…Yes…" The two continued walking towards the town square, the cool night air making even Serenity Valley's blistering heat seem endurable. The dark night sky was perfectly clear, and with no light pollution to obscure the stars, every single twinkling one of them shone out brilliantly, illuminating the sky like a city. A small waxing crescent moon was their only other light, aside from torches that had been lit here and there.

Trey, who was one of the sponsors for the Festival, kept a brisk pace just behind his daughter and her friends. He had grown to love them all quite a bit, and it soon became commonplace to see them running around his house once he came home from work. Trista had managed to keep her friends and her pupils separate; she had quickly become a respected history teacher, and it was an extreme rarity to see her ever use the switch.

"……Trey?" Trista, surprisingly, broke the very silence that she had started.

"Yes?" She smiled softly, and gently folded her hand over his.

"I'll…… tell you about it when we get to the festival…" A pause. The faintest hint of a blush was on those sun-kissed cheeks.

"…All right."

----------

_How does she do it?_ Heero had to wonder. _How does she always manage to get me to do her bidding? "Heero, I want to go here; Heero, I want to do this; Heero, let's stay here; Heero, come with me to this." That girl…… that spoiled brat of a tomboyish girl… Why do I allow her to manipulate me like this…?_

"Hurry up, sunshahne!" called Lita as she ran ahead of the outlaw. "We don't wanna be late now, do we? Heh, heh, heh, yer gonna love this! Ah entered mah cakes in the bake contest, an' ah think ah stand a chance'a winnin'!" Hero grumbled and mumbled to himself as his captive squealed out to him, and for the hundredth time that year, he questioned why he ever bothered kidnapping her in the first place.

_……Am… am I really… falling for her? She said that she would "soften me up" or whatever… But, that's not happening…_

Is it? …God… I hope not… That spoiled brat is too annoying. …That cinches it. I'm going to let her go after this festival is over. I'm going to let her go, and leave this town. It's not worth it anymore. It's just not worth it.

Heero agreed with himself, and resolved to dump Lita in that harsh town that very night. It had gotten to the point where even the large sum of money that her parents would pay for her safe return would not be worth such troubles. Lita Keene might have softened down to a less-annoying version of her past self, but she was still too much trouble for Heero to bear. Yes, he would be rid of her that very night…

----------

Amy Anderson was there welcoming everybody to the festivities. Not only had she been given the job of greeter and informant, she was also assigned the task of directing members of Dewy's "organization" to the meeting place. For the moment, the "exclusive" club was small and poorly-organized (it _was_ Dewy who was doing most of the work), but its members had big dreams for the future of their club. Amy, who was one of the few persons there of Anglican descent, really and truly liked the idea, and wanted to let the voice of acceptance reach the ears of the world.

Or something like that. For the time, she just enjoyed seeing who had arrived. Trey and Trista Renada were there, of course, and Marie-Maya and her three friends with them. Mayor Shields and his wife had also came, naturally, and Lita Keene nearly smothered poor Amy with one of her big bear hugs. Heero (whom Amy was surprised to see present) gave Miss Anderson a much more reserved reception.

Amy had already let the members of the band inside: Quatre on fiddle and backup vocals, Raya on vocals, Trowa on guitar, Wufei on banjo and backup vocals, Dewy as the lead singer, and Venus de Milo as dancer (with Shaking Wind accompanying her buddy). Millard O'Craft had squeezed by Amy's security with little more than a silent gaze, but the smaller young woman really hoped that he would open up more in the future. After all, they were now part of the same organization, in theory.

Amy grew a little more concerned as an unfamiliar man approached her. He looked even richer than Mr. Renada and Mr. Shields combined, and had a definite air of nobility to him. Amy, who knew practically everybody in Serenity Valley, had a reason to be worried when the stranger came towards her, but tried not to show it.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked. The man paused and looked down at her.

"…Hm, yes. I came here to see my daughter. Would you happen to know a, eh, Miss Michelle King?" Amy's eyes widened in astonishment as she deduced who the man was, and had a hard time not showing her full amazement. So this was Michelle's father, the Earl! And here he was, checking up on his daughter's martial status! Things were definitely going to turn interesting, especially for poor Quatre.

"I… believe so, sir," answered Amy. "I don't know where exactly she is, but you may find here somewhere in the town square."

"The town square. Thank you." The Earl hastily left Amy to her post and marched into the square to search for his daughter. Amy breathed out a sigh, but the problems were not over yet. There was going to be some conflict concerning the Earl, his daughter, and the Reverend, and though Amy was glad that she was not a part of such a triangle, she truly prayed for the Reverend's safety.

----------

An hour passed, and just to make sure she was on schedule, Amy checked the courthouse clock. It was closing in on nine o'clock--almost time for the main event to start. With almost everybody milling around inside the square, her job was finished, so she left and went to the stage, where the performers were tuning up like an orchestra. A large crowd had gathered and were impatiently waiting for the big show to start, but there were still a few performers not quite ready.

When Dewy saw Amy wandering around, however, he knew that he had to start things up. So, without further ado, he brought his megaphone up and blared into it.

"Howdy, y'all!" he called. "Is everybody havin' a good time?!" A large cheer from the crowd told him that they were, and he smiled in return. "All right!! Well, the Harvest Moon Festival's going great, eh, but what's a celebration without a good old-fashioned hoedown!?" Another cheer from the crowd told him that they all agreed.

"Now I know some of you high-and-mighty people think you're too classy to get down and dirty with the rest of us rednecks, but I want y'all to leave all of that behind! Just get out and dance your po' heart out! Me'n the band are gonna play a right nice tune for y'all, so get on down and have a good time!!!" The crowd cheered one more time, and continued cheering as Trowa and Wufei strung their instruments up. Venus de Milo prepared to dance along with the song, and soon the whole town was caught up in the festivities.

__

(In constant sorrow all through his days)

I am a man of constant sorrow, I've seen trouble all my days

I bid farewell to old Kentucky, the place where I was born and raised

(The place where he was born and raised)

Women screamed in hysterics as Dewy's twanging country voice belted out across the land. Even Shaking Wind blushed violently as her closest friend sang his heart out. Nobody knew that Dewy could sing like that, not even his closest friends, but the crowd sure did enjoy it! Venus de Milo performed a wild cancan dance to accompany the song, and soon everybody was clapping and spinning each other around without a care.

__

For six long years I've been in trouble, no pleasure here on Earth I found

For in this world I'm bound to ramble, I have no friends to help me now.

(He has no friends to help him now)

Soon, Lita had thrown away all inhibitions, and was dancing up there right with Venus. The two span and kicked their legs like French performers, causing the whole crowd to whistle madly. Wufei rammed on his banjo like a madman, belting out a sweet tune to go along with such an upbeat performance, and Quatre's occasional violin inserts gave the hoedown a sugary country concoction. Even people like Trey and Trista were grooving with the beat, but then again, this was a time to celebrate and throw away all cares.

__

It's fare thee well my old true lover, I never expect to see you again

For I'm bound to ride that northern railroad, perhaps I'll die upon this train

(Perhaps he'll die upon this train)

In between the verses, Dewy, Quatre, Raya, Lita, and Wufei made the crowd yell as they danced and twirled each other around like drunken fools. They would promenade and do-se-do without any style or class to their performance, which actually made the whole spectacle seem better than it should have. After all, they were not up there to be serious; they performed from the heart and soul, and from years of depression and joy, and from a little bit of ale and whiskey.

__

You can bury me in some deep valley, for many years where I may lay

Then you may learn to love another while I am sleeping in my grave

(While he is sleeping in his grave)

Suddenly, Michelle King leaped up on the stage and performed an insanely wild violin solo, gracefully sending out a sultry country tune unknown to her civilized upbringing. Everybody shouted in shock and amazement as the sophisticated woman showed her wild side, and even Quatre laughed out loud. The violin sang out better than any siren, causing an uproar of amazement to everybody who thought the lady a quiet one. Apparently, she had some things to prove.

__

Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger, my face you'll never see no more

But there is one promise that is given, I'll meet you on God's golden shore

(He'll meet you on God's golden shore!)

The performance ended with the audience yelling out in rapture, throwing their hands in the air and screaming for an encore. Dewy and his band took a big bow, and in a wild and perhaps immature moment, lifted Michelle King on their shoulders and displayed her for the whole crowd. She squealed with glee and begged to be placed back down on the ground, but also seemed to enjoy such adulation and attention. When she was finally set down, Quatre gave her a big hug and expressed his surprise over her hitherto unknown skills.

"I didn't know you could play like that!" he shouted. Michelle blushed and grinned.

"Neither did I! I have no idea where that came from! It was so unlike me!"

"But it was wonderful! It must have come from deep inside your soul!" Michelle smiled warmly at Quatre's compliments, and leaned in to give him a polite peck on the cheek.

"Thank you. That means quite a bit to me. But what really surprised me was Mr. Maxwell's singing!"

"Yeah, I didn't figure on him having that voice," noted Quatre. Before the two could converse further, however, they were swamped by adoring fans of all ages, every one of them begging for an autograph. Quatre and Michelle laughed out loud as their fans swamped them, and made sure to satisfy all their needs. However, one fan in particular did not look all that insane for the two of them--in fact, he had quite a serious look on his face.

"…Young lady, I would like to have a word with you."

"Father!" exclaimed Michelle in surprise. "Wha… what are you doing here?"

"I thought I expressed in an earlier letter that I was going to visit you. Have you forgotten?" Michelle sighed and shook her head.

"…No." Quickly but quietly, the Earl took Michelle by the arm and dragged her away to a more secluded area. She stole a glance back at Quatre, who simply balled his hand up in a fist and held it over his heart. _Be strong,_ he seemed to say. She quietly smiled back at him, and turned her focus back to her father. This was not going to be easy…

----------

"Excellent!" Shaking Wind grabbed her friend in a vicious hug and twirled him around in the air, but the spunky young man quickly turned the tables on her and twirled her around instead.

"What'd ya think, Mara?!" he squealed. "Wasn't I just amazing up there!?"

"You were incredible!" she exclaimed. Dewy grinned triumphantly and vigorously rubbed the hair of his friend.

"Heeheehee! I shoulda been on the stage! Course', them city-folk back east would probably never have a roughneck like me roamin' round' their streets…"

"Their loss," shrugged Shaking Wind. Dewy gave her a calmer smile and put his arm around her neck.

"Yeah… Hey, where's everybody else?! I wanna congratulate them too!" Shaking Wind shrugged and began looking around for the other members of the band. She smiled wryly as she discovered Venus de Milo being held tenderly by Millard O'Craft, and couldn't help but wonder how many men would be jealous of _that._ Amy and Wufei were also spending some personal time together, although not in such an intimate fashion. They were merely sitting together, having a conversation and signing autographs whenever they were asked.

"Let us not disturb them," said Shaking Wind gently. "They are…… uhh… happy now."

"Hm?"

"Nothing," she smiled. "But do we not have…… uh… bee's knees?"

"Business," corrected Dewy. She nodded her head.

"Yes. Business. We have business with Mayor Shields, yes?"

"Oh yeah, that's right! I almost forgot about that! C'mon, we'd better move fast if we wanna catch him!" Shaking Wind agreed, despite her irritation at Dewy's forgetful mind, and followed her friend in search of the mayor.

----------

"So, are you liking this town?" asked Venus. Millard shrugged.

"Eh guess. Yer in it, so it can't be that bad." She giggled and blushed a little.

"Thanks. That's really sweet… But seriously, have you been having any luck?"

"Eh guess," he shrugged. "Depends on what ye call luck. Eh've decided ta get inta th' smithin' business. It's no as pretty as a Marquis, but a job's a job, eh?"

"Yeah…" Venus smiled and held onto her love interest a little tighter, her blonde hair and his meshing like the stalks of corn and wheat in the prairies of America. Millard genuinely smiled and combed his fingers through her perfumed hair, and knew that he was the luckiest man in the whole world--and not because Venus was so desirable.

"…Hey, Millard?"

"Aye?"

"…I never told you my real name, did I?"

"…No."

"It's Mina," she said as she smiled at him. "Mina Sebastian. I'd… uh, I'd really like it if you started calling me that." He smiled back at her and kissed her forehead.

"All right… Mina…"

"Thanks."

----------

Trista smiled fondly as Apollo, Hotaru, and Renee wheeled Marie-Maya home, the four of them squealing and chatting about what they had done at the fair. The night was dark and cool and the hour was late, and the morrow would prove to be a much more regular and ordinary day than the one that had already passed. Trista foresaw a bit of the future consisting of these same bland and tasteless days, but in Serenity, the norm was anything but. Especially with a new generation as diverse as this running around, things were not going to grow dull anytime soon.

Indeed, the whole entire future seemed to be shifting into a newer and faster field of technology, science, sociology, and economics. Trista had high hopes for her stepdaughter and her trinity of friends; she also had these same hopes for herself and her husband… Speaking of which, the man she was married to had a vague and glassy look to his face, like he was looking into another world even as he walked home. Trista noticed this (herself having expertise in these anti-emotions) and asked him what the matter was.

"…Nothing," he replied with a faint smile. "…Oh, that's right. You were going to tell me about something?"

"Oh, yes! Well, it seems I forgot about it during the festivities. I must admit, Trey, I did not think either one of us could dance like that."

"It was the music, I think," he gestured. "It did something to us. Just as a waltz will make the body glide in smooth form, or a ballet will make it dance gracefully, so may a bergamask like that will move our bodies into joyful mindlessness." She giggled.

"I suppose. In any case, I apologize for not telling you sooner. It… slipped my mind."

"It's all right," he told her. "But prithee, tell me what has been on your mind for so long." Trista gave Trey a smile that was anything but enigmatic, and blushed quite deeply as she prepared to give him the news.

"……Trey… I, ah… well, uh… I just recently discovered, uh, that, uh……" A sigh. "…I'm pregnant, Trey."

"Oh!" Naturally, the man grew quite surprised to hear such sudden news. "Well then, congratulations! I suppose this changes everything, does it not?" He smiled at his wife, who was glowing with the radiation of one who overflowed with love and kindness. She tentatively took his hand and gave him a wink.

"Yes," she said. "Yes it does."

----------

Michelle's father, the Earl, led her to a place where he could have a private talk with his daughter. As shocked as he was to see his only child up on that stage, acting like "an utter fool" as he put it, he had to quell his anger for the moment. If Michelle had performed her duty, and had married a man of a rich and/or influential background, a small deed like that could be forgiven.

"Here we are…" muttered her father once they came to a clearing. His eyes bore into his daughter's, and the grilling began with a rather scalding statement. "Now, young lady, I see that you are enjoying your time here in this hellhole rather well, but I suppose I only have myself to blame. Had I raised you _properly_, you would have stayed somewhere back east, and not wandered off into such a desolate wasteland as this."

Michelle King remained silent. What _could_ she say in her defense?

"I guess I can't prevent what's already happened," he murmured. "In any case, I suppose I'm glad you're all right. Have you made any good friends?"

"Yes, father, several of them."

"Good. And what about a husband?" Michelle paused darkly and looked away from her father's piercing gaze. _Here goes nothing…_

"There have been no developments, father."

"Then I am bitterly disappointed in you," he sniffed. "Michelle, did I not give you explicit instructions to find a suitable husband for yourself while in America?"

"Yes…"

"And are you not beautiful or skilled enough that you cannot find even one?"

"No…"

"Then what is the matter, child?! You are my only offspring, and your mother has been gone for five years! I regret not having a son, but I must accept what has been given to me. Michelle…" The Earl trailed off in irritation, gesturing into the air with his shaking fist. The young Miss King didn't look eager to learn what else he would have said.

"Father, I--"

"Yes? Do you have something to say?" A dark pause. Michelle gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and made a fist with each of her hands. The Fifth Commandment, _honor thy father and thy mother_, continued to play in her mind over and over again, yet a spark of spiritual and paternal rebellion was lit in the young woman's heart, and despite the expectations thrown onto her, she dared speak her mind.

"I do not wish to marry out of convenience or status alone," she said with slow but firm deliverance. "It is true that I would like to have those qualities in my husband, and please believe me when I say that I do everything to please you. But… father…"

"Not another word," he growled.

"You do not control my life!!" she spat suddenly. The Earl sharply struck her across the cheek, sending her tumbling to the ground with a shriek.

"Don't you talk back to your father like that, young lady!" snapped the Earl. "You do not know what I have done so you could be in so fortunate a position! To have the precious freedom to pick and choose whomever you want to marry is an unspeakable privilege that even _royalty_ do not have! Young lady, you dare rebel against my kindness?" The father stood over his daughter like a sentinel, watching her cry and nurse her face. She slowly stood up and shook the dust off of her dress, and despite having been humiliated like that, she still had a look of steel in her eyes.

"I love you more than a daughter could possibly love her father," she insisted. "But… I also want to love my _husband_ too…"

"You will learn to love whoever I approve of!" replied her father. "Your mother and I were strangers until a month before our own wedding, and yet I did love her, and grieved for her when she left us! You can do the same to your own groom!" Michelle clamped her mouth shut in silent determination, and glared at her father to see if he had anything else to say. Her silence was worse than arguing; at least this way, her father wouldn't know how she felt about things. Besides, she had nothing to give him.

"……Well, you can be stubborn if you wish," snorted the man. "But I shall give you an ultimatum, in which you will respond one way or another, in my own presence. Michelle, only daughter, I give you the rare option of choosing a worthy man yourself, or else letting me choose for you!" Michelle's rock-hard face softened into concern as her father gave her his final declaration, and knew then that she was stuck. If she allowed her father to choose, which she honestly _should_ have, he would probably do so to suit his own desires. It was okay to want power, and to pursue it, perhaps even at the cost of one's own offspring……

But Michelle didn't like it.

"All right, you win," she sighed. "I'll do as you say. But… father… I will not be responsible if you do not approve of the man of my choosing."

"Let me be the judge of that," he said. Michelle nodded her head, and was dismissed from his presence. Before he left her as well, he gave her a week's time to locate a suitable mate in the dusty town, a period of time all too short to determine the love of one's life. Michelle sighed out of sheer depression and confusion, but there was at least some good news in all this mess.

At least she had not fallen in love with one of the discriminated persons of the town, like… say, Shaking Wind for example. _That_ would have been a _real_ mess!!!

----------

Facing the dark night sky was Heero, who for the first time in a few good months, was honestly and truly alone. Lita Keene was nowhere in sight, but only because the unknown outlaw had moved away from the festivities so hastily and subtly. He was now a good distance away from the town, but not so far that he could breathe a sigh of relief. It was true that he had abandoned his victim, and that he wouldn't get paid a single cent for her safe return, but that was all right with him. No amount of money was worth hanging around that woman. He was glad to leave her.

Sighing, Heero almost smiled as he took his first few steps of freedom. Without the presence of Lita Keene, he felt as free and as light as a feather--a feather that was merely content to float on the breeze, and to fly anywhere the wind took him. Heero was but a feather in the breeze of life, going and coming wherever his whims deemed. He no longer had the responsibility of watching over Lita, _or_ himself--he was a free man, or at least, freed from the eternal grasp of his tall companion.

So… why didn't he take any more steps further?

Punishing himself for such a deed, Heero dared look back at Serenity Valley. The torches were slowly being snuffed out, and the people were going back to their homes after a long day of fun and entertainment. The scene had been too sugary-sweet for Heero to endure, and he left as soon as possible. He preferred staying in that town when it was nice and hot and lonely; he preferred being on the road even more. A small fear erupted in him, a fear that Lita would be running after him, but only the coyotes were out there with him. Lita was absent.

_Strange,_ he thought to himself. _Has she completely abandoned me? Did she forget about me?_ Heero growled at himself for thinking such thoughts. He should have counted himself lucky for this private time, and for this brief period of freedom that he had. He could now escape any time he wanted to, and could literally go anywhere without anything holding him back. His was a path stricken of obstacles, stricken of Lita, stricken of anything except his own footprints.

So… why didn't he take any more steps further?

Heero let out a curse, and willed his feet to move forward, away from the town. _Yes, that was it. Leave it behind. It's all for the better. Don't look back or you may end up like Lot's wife. Just keep on going and you'll do fine. Forget about it. Forget about it all. Keep going, that's it. One foot in front of the other._

Darkness greeted Heero as he stared ahead of him; behind, the town was still illuminated in lights. The metaphor was not lost on the outlaw, and once again, he stopped walking. He did not want to go back. He did not want to see that annoying Lita ever again, or any of her crazy friends. He never wanted to see that wild child Dewy, or the depressed Millard, or the punctual Trey. He wanted to erase their faces from his mind, and move on, and leave them all behind, and forget about everything. He never wanted anything to do with them.

Or… did he?

Why else did he not move forward, like so many cowboys on the backs of horses?

Why? Was it because of… them? Their acceptance of him? Their kindness?

The way they left him to his own business, and never asked questions?

Or was it because of… her?

Rubbish.

Yet his feet remained still.

Sigh.

"I'm gonna regret this," he muttered to himself, and slowly, Heero turned around and headed back to the town. He didn't know why he was walking back, he just did. He was strange in that way.

**__**

The End


End file.
